


Family Values

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grumpy Bobby Singer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Bond, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Season/Series 12 Spoilers, Supernatural Mega Bang 2016, Supportive Sam, Team Free Will, canon typical references to torture of others, character death outside tfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 79,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: Beelzebub was Lucifer's first lieutenant. The first true demon. And after Lucifer is locked back in the Cage, he's pissed. And now he's on a mission to free his Master and bring about the destiny that never should have been averted.Dean, Sam, and Cas have to find him and stop him. But it's not that easy when Cas's past comes into play and it's more sinister than Dean ever would have thought.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my artist [kuwlshadow](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/)! Can you believe this is the fourth time I've gotten to work with her? Be sure to check her art out on tumblr as well! Also thanks to my wonderful beta modulegirl! Without her help, this story would probably have about 500 stupid grammar errors that I never catch no matter how many times I proof read. NOTE: This story takes place after s5, but it includes spoilers up to s12. If you are not caught up to s12, I recommend backing out now. Spoilers are minor, but they are there. Also, READ THE TAGS. This story deals with dark subject material. Know what you're getting yourself into. Enjoy! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thanks to my artist kuwlshadow for once again working with me! Be sure to check out her tumblr for more awesome art of TFW!
> 
> [ART MASTERPOST](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/162887660623/title-family-values-author-darkheartinthesky)
> 
>  
> 
> Another great thanks to my beta [modulegirl](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/modulegirl)! Without her help, this fic would have a few hundred grammar errors that would just be upsetting for everyone. 
> 
> NOTE: Please read the tags. Though this story takes place directly after s5, it contains elements all the way through to mid-season 12. If you are not caught up to that point, I don't not recommend reading unless you wish to be spoiled. Also, this story deals with dark subject material. Keep yourselves safe!

               

                                                        

 

 

                 Hell was in chaos.

                The ever constant, never ending, screams of those damned souls, strung up onto the racks like slices of meat, stopped.

                The souls were gone.

                He had lain in the Pit for so long, he could not even begin to presume how much time had passed during his career at the Racks. There was no day nor night, and if it weren’t for the visible aging of the souls, decaying like stones to dust, he would have thought that the passage of time was not something that existed this deep down.

                He heard it too. The deep and low slamming that echoed and shook the ground violently. He turned his head away from the soul he was currently pillaging—a man who sold his soul in exchange for his wife to die suddenly and painfully in her sleep, so that he could run off with his teenage lover—and when he turned back, the soul was gone.

                “Hell has Fallen!” a voice cried, low in timbre. “Lucifer has been imprisoned once more!”

                The knife fell from the demon’s hand, clattering onto the ground. His hand was wet with the warm blood of the man’s soul.

                “Lucifer,” he said quietly. “My Lord….no, it cannot be.”

                The demon looked to the rack once more. His tortured soul had not returned; nor had a new one come to take its place. The demon eyed it suspiciously, suddenly noticing the quiet. Was that what this was called? It was a sensation he was not used to. For as long as he could remember, as long as he had been sat down here, there had been the screams.

                “Will Michael destroy us?” another voice cried.

                “Michael is imprisoned too; the Winchesters, they are victorious!”

                The demon turned his head at the name. Winchester. Dean Winchester. He licked his lips, remembering Dean Winchester, hung upside down on the rack, remembered how Alistair crooned of Dean, impressed with his work. Dean Winchester had been a hard soul to break; but once he did, he broke completely.

                Until those damn angels had stormed…

                The demon left his post, searching for voices to lead him in the proper direction. What was going on? Where had the souls gone? And had Lucifer truly been defeated, by nothing more than a duo of mud monkeys?

                No. He refused to believe it. It just was not possible. Lucifer was the one true Lord—the true ruler of all realms.

                And a friend.

                But that was beside the point—it was prophesized. Lucifer, upon his release, would battle the Heavens and he would _win._ The demon had always believed that Lucifer would win. Lucifer would win, and Lucifer would come and release him of his post, and together they would rule the realms. Lucifer had promised him.

                He ascended from the Pit, mesmerized by the sudden change that surrounded him. Gone were the racks, and hooks; the dark storm clouds and their lightning. In their place, were cobblestone floors and dark antechambers of a medieval castle, the rotted smell of sulfur hanging heavy in the air.

                He was still as he took in the change in décor. He heard footsteps.

                “Can I help you?” an accented voice asked.

                Beelzebub turned his head. He sniffed the air—the being before him was a demon; but only a crossroads salesman. It posed no threat.

                “What has happened? And who are you?”

                “I,” the demon said, stepping forward, footsteps echoing, “am your new boss. King of Hell. Charmed, I’m sure.”

                Beelzebub snorted. “Do not be so hasty to make presumptions about me. You, a king? King of roaches, perhaps.” He must have been in the Pit for a great length of time, if suddenly crossroad demons had the gall to make such claims. Arrogance was a hamartia—but not so bad as a false arrogance.

                The stranger’s eyes flicked red. “Crowley,” he said. “And you are?”

                “Someone more powerful than you, that’s for certain,” Beelzebub said.  

                Crowley snorted, lips turning upward into a smirk. “You’re from the Pit,” he said. “I can smell it on you, poppet. When was the last time you were even topside?”

                Beelzebub straightened his spine. He towered over this pathetic piece of crossroad scum—he was far more ancient, too. Power crackled at his fingertips. He was sure he could level this Crowley with just a snap of his fingers.

                “I haven’t the need,” Beelzebub said tonelessly. “I am awaiting Lucifer to call for me.”

                Crowley snickered. “Well, you’ll be waiting a long time then, I’m afraid. Lucifer is um, _como se dice_? Indisposed, once more.”

                “So I keep hearing,” Beelzebub said. “By a group of mud monkeys, they say. I don’t believe it. Lucifer is the true Lord—he would not be defeated by anyone, especially by a couple of vessels.”

                “Hate to break it to you, darling, but it’s the truth,” Crowley said. “Didn’t you hear the people sing? Well, in this case, I suppose they were screaming—surely you at least heard the bars closing? It rattled the entire realm! There is no prophecy, no destiny! Michael and Lucifer have been defeated. The Earth still spins.” Crowley’s eyes narrowed farther, until just a narrow slit of red could be seen. “Who are you? I’ve been in Hell a long time, and I haven’t ever come across you.”

                “I am Lucifer’s true servant,” Beelzebub said. “And if what you say is true, then you are a false king. Hell belongs to Lucifer and to me.” Beelzebub stepped forward up to Crowley, looking down on the demon.

                To Crowley’s credit, he was not intimidated. Instead, his stare just deepened, pools of an endless, blood red. His fingertips twitched.

                And this close, Beelzebub could smell something. It was just a waft; faint, just barely there—and yet once he smelled it, he couldn’t not notice it. It was a smell he knew intimately, one that had been absent from his presence for millennia, but one he would recognize anywhere, in any time.

                “You’ve seen him,” Beelzebub whispered in disbelief. He turned his head, searching, but there was no one but him and Crowley. “Where is he?”

                “I’ve told you!” Crowley snapped. “Lucifer is locked up!”

                “Not Lucifer! _En aziazor!_ You’ve seen him!”

                Crowley looked at him again, dissecting him. Crowley swallowed, his throat thickening with the movement. Suddenly, his eyes weren’t so sure anymore. “Beelzebub?” he said.  “You’re real? I thought you were just a myth.”

                “It looks like you were wrong,” Beelzebub said plainly. “Quit stalling. My love, where is he?”

                “I haven’t the foggiest what you’re blabbering on about,” Crowley said, but there was a hitch in his voice—the slightest hint of terror, Beelzebub noted.

                “The brightest star to ever light up the night sky—“ Beelzebub said, and he looked to the sky, and imagined, not the dark, dull stone slab of a ceiling that hung before him, but instead the stars and clouds of Heaven. “His beauty is captivating, ensnaring the gazes of everyone who is blessed enough to be in his presence. And he is powerful—the type of solider one would want on their team, not to be fighting against. You’ve been near him—“ Beelzebub walked closer. Crowley took a step back. Beelzebub took another step forward. “Where is he?”

                But Crowley only continued to look at him with that vacant, ridiculous gaze of his, and Beelzebub roared in frustration, lashing out towards Crowley. Beelzebub grabbed Crowley by the throat and hoisted him off the ground and pushed him against the wall.

                Beelzebub tilted his head and squeezed. Crowley choked—and though he did not need to breathe, he was still just a fragile crossroad demon, and Beelzebub was far stronger. To crush this pathetic vermin into dust would only take the same effort as squishing a cockroach. Wisps of red smoke billowed out of Crowley’s mouth in small tufts—Beelzebub considered just pressing a little harder and killing the bastard; claim what was rightfully his, and make a statement to any other lower level piece of scum of who really was the true ruler of the realm--and then he thought better.

                He dropped Crowley to the ground in a heap. Crowley gasped and clutched at his neck. He looked up at Beelzebub with terror in his eyes.

                “You really mean to call yourself King of Hell?” Beelzebub asked. “You?”

                Crowley just stared at him with that same terrified expression, teeth bared like a frightened animal.

                Beelzebub snorted and grinned. “You’re very brazen, for something so pathetic. I admire that. You’re a crossroads demon. Make a deal with me?”

                “’Fraid not, darling,” Crowley spat onto the ground, a dribble of blood seeping out his mouth. “You seem to be missing this eensy teensy thing called a soul.”

                “Is that all you care about?” Beelzebub asked. “Souls? I can offer you something much more valuable, my friend.”

                “Really? Like what?”

                “I can _not_ kill you.”

                Crowley’s eyes trembled.

                “If what you say is true, well. We’ll have to liberate Lucifer, of course. This is his rightful kingdom, and I am his most loyal servant. I will rule Hell by his side, with _en aziazor_ by my side. And you,” Beelzebub knelt down to Crowley’s level. “You’ve been in his company very recently. Very recently. I can smell him on you—it’s such a lovely scent, isn’t it? You will take me to him, King of Hell; if you’re as powerful as you seem to think you are.”

                “I haven’t a clue who the hell you’re talking about.”

                Beelzebub sighed in contentment, as he thought of memories he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in millennia; his love’s scent, the heat of his love’s grace underneath his fingertips, the low murmur of his love’s voice. He thought of the future, for the first time in millennia, and of holding his love close against him, never letting go. They would be together once more, never apart—like they were meant to be.

                “His name is Castiel,” Beelzebub said, sighing again in contentment once more; just thinking of his love caused his blood to run hot inside his veins. Crowley’s eyes shifted slightly. Beelzebub grinned wide. “So you _do_ know him.”

                He reached out and grabbed Crowley by the collar of his shirt and yanked. “Well then, _Crowley._ How about that trip topside?”

                                                                                                                    **PART I**

                Dean sat on the edge of the wooden seat, next to the bed. His hand was wrapped around Castiel’s, and Dean rubbed the pad of his thumb across the back of Castiel’s hand. It was sickeningly quiet. Dean almost couldn’t stand the quiet—it was numbing his mind, driving him crazy.

                But he couldn’t leave Castiel. Someone had to watch him, someone had to be there for him when he woke up. Dean owed it to Castiel to be there when he woke up.

                Because he _would_ wake up. It was just taking a little bit.

                Castiel’s chest rose and fell just enough to be noticeable, but he made no sound. Dean kept his eyes glued to that movement, though, and counted each feeble, silent breath inside his head. It kept him grounded. Concentrated. And it gave him something to do.

                Every now and then, his free hand would reach down and brush just the handle of the angel blade in his belt loop, checking that it was still there. Just in case. Paranoia was deeply rooted into Dean, and he wore it like a skin. You couldn’t ever be too careful, and there was no such thing as being over prepared. He had to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Anything could bust through the window, or fall through the roof, or hell, maybe even just stroll through the front door, and Dean had to be ready, to defend not just himself, but Castiel as well.

                Castiel had saved them; their lives and souls. It was Dean’s turn now.

                “Hey buddy,” Dean barely whispered, throat raw from disuse. It felt strange to speak, to hear the silence broken. “You gotta wake up soon, okay?” Dean couldn’t properly voice his worry. It had been a week now that the Earth in Bobby’s backyard had cracked open, and a tornado of light shone from the ground—until it vanished as soon as it had appeared, and there had been Sam and Castiel lying in a heap, the angel wrapped so tightly around Sam, Dean and Bobby had to actually pry them apart.

                Sam had been semi-conscious, though—at least, as soon as they had separated him from Castiel’s grip. He’d been dazed, at first. And he didn’t really speak for a bit. But Dean and Bobby had put him in bed, and Sam slept for thirty hours straight, and then he woke up just the same as he always had been. And now, he was walking and talking and eating, like none of the terrible stuff that did happen, had.

                Castiel hadn’t stirred once, though.

                “I have to thank you properly,” Dean said, even though he knew nothing would ever be enough. Castiel had given Dean his baby brother back. Dean wouldn’t ever be able to repay that. “Kind of hard to do when you’re playing Mister Comatose.”

                Dean could understand if the positions were reversed, if it was Sam who was laid up in bed, still as death, for over a week, and Castiel who just needed a quick recharge. Cas was an angel. He wasn’t supposed to sleep. Dean didn’t understand. Why was it taking Castiel so long to heal?

                There was a knock at the door.

                Dean pulled his hand away from Castiel’s like he’d been burned, just as the door opened. Dean recognized Sam’s heavy footsteps without turning.

                “Still nothing?” Sam asked. Dean could taste the disappointment in his brother’s tone.

                “Still nothing,” Dean said, watching Castiel’s chest rise and fall once more. “Not even a twitch.”

                Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “He probably just needs more time. He. . .it was a lot of energy, Dean.”

                Dean turned around to look over his shoulder. “You remember?” Sam hadn’t said anything about what had happened. Dean hadn’t asked—he just assumed.

                “Not really,” Sam said. “It’s kind of like a dream. I have snippets, I think. But they don’t fit together. I just remember this. . . blast, like a nuke going off, and then I woke up in bed. But there was just this light. . . everywhere.”

                Dean swallowed. Castiel’s chest rose and fell again. “You really think he’ll pull through?” Dean thought of that time when Castiel took them back to the Seventies to see their parents, and how when he came back, he collapsed and slept and didn’t move for three days.

                “Yeah,” Sam said, running his hand through his hair. Dean recognized that tone in his brother’s voice, though; the underlying guilt. Dean heard what Sam wasn’t saying. If Castiel didn’t pull through, Sam was going to blame himself; because he had gotten hurt saving Sam. “But,” Sam continued. “he’s tough. I mean, he was actually dead and he came back from that. He’ll come back from this. He just needs more time.”

                “But how much more?” Dean didn’t think his sanity could take staring at a barely breathing body for much longer.

                “I don’t know,” Sam said. “As long as he needs. But not a moment longer.”

                Dean didn’t know how to respond to that. He turned back around to sit straight in the chair, and he resisted the urge to take Castiel’s hand in his once more—not with Sam there, looming over him, he couldn’t.

                Castiel’s chest rose and fell.

.

.

.

                “Eat,” Bobby ordered, dropping the plate in front of Dean. Dean looked at the sandwich with unease. His stomach twisted at the sight, and he pushed it away.

                “I didn’t slave over a hot stove for a full two minutes for you to just turn your nose up at it,” Bobby grumbled, sliding the plate back over. “Eat.”

                “I’m not hungry,” Dean said, poking at the bread. It was just a plain sandwich, with lettuce and cheese, and a slice of pre-packaged turkey, but suddenly it looked to be the most unappetizing thing in the world.

                “Too bad,” Bobby said, filling up a glass of water. “You haven’t eaten in at least a day, boy. You’re not going to do that fella any good if you keel over from starvation.” Bobby put the glass in front of Dean. Dean watched rivulets of condensation run down the length of the glass.

                Dean stared at the glass and sighed. He reached out and took the glass and drank a small sip.

                “See, now did that kill you?”

                Dean picked at the sandwich, peeling off parts of bread and smaller parts of meat. He wadded it between his fingertips into a little ball before eating it.

                “I ain’t ever seen you not inhale food,” Bobby said. “What’s wrong with you?”

                “I’m not hungry,” Dean repeated, peeling at the sandwich again. “I didn’t realize that was such a crime.”

                “Cas will be just fine.” Bobby sat down beside Dean. “He’s the most stubborn son of bitch I ever met, except for you. Just give it time.”

                Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. “That’s all I keep hearing, blah, blah, blah. It’s been over a week, Bobby—what if, what if--”

                _What if he’s not ever going to get better? What if he’s not in there anymore?_

                There hadn’t been any of the infamous scorch marks on the ground when Castiel breached the Earth, but it hadn’t stopped Dean from worrying about it anyway. What if Castiel was dead, and Dean was just staring at an empty vessel this entire time? Just the thought made Dean’s stomach sour and he considered tossing the rest of the sandwich away.

                “Rome wasn’t built in a day, Dean,” Bobby said. “And I bet hell scars don’t heal in a week.”

                Dean forced himself to eat another bite of the sandwich. He resisted gagging—had Bobby used rotten lettuce in this thing?

                Bobby sighed. “Finish that up and you can get back to staring at our resident coma patient.”

                “I don’t need your permission,” Dean snapped.

                Bobby shot Dean a look. “Eat.”

                Dean grumbled, but picked up the sandwich and bit into it, chasing it down with a gulp of water. He finished it off as quick as he could before standing up and racing back up the stairs, Bobby’s mutterings of ‘ungrateful brat’ echoing the entire way.

.

.

.

                Sam had taken post while Dean was downstairs. Dean entered the guest bedroom and waited in the door well for a moment, just taking the scene in. Sam had a book in his lap, and as Dean waited there, Sam turned a page.

                Dean shut the door behind him.

                “Still nothing?”

                Sam sighed and closed his book. He put it on the nightstand and rubbed his eyes. “No. I told you Dean, if he so much as twitched, I’d tell you.”

                “I know,” Dean said, stepping closer. “I just. . .”

                Dean walked to the foot of the bed. Castiel was in the same position, on his back, limbs by his side, chest rising and falling so minutely, it was barely noticeable.

                Like this, it was hard to believe Castiel was an angel. He looked as small and fragile as any other human would have. His eyes were shut, and gone was the other worldly gaze his eyes always upheld. Everything about Castiel was other worldly, from the way he held himself, to the way he spoke—every word chosen with precision, and the slow way he would speak them, as though he wasn’t sure he was using them correctly.

                Dean worried for a moment that he would never get to hear Castiel speak again.

                “Bobby made lunch,” Dean said, scratching his jaw. He winced. He had a week’s worth of stubble marring his jaw, and it wasn’t until that moment he realized how uncomfortable it was. “Or, well, he tried to at least. We need to get Bobby a housekeeper. Or a girlfriend. Someone to clean out his fridge once a year, anyway.”

                Sam chortled quietly, a small grin turning at the corners of his lips. “Does he still have rat tails in the cheese drawer?”

                Dean shivered. “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. But if you want a hairy lettuce and expired deli meat sandwich, Bobby will hook you up.”

                Castiel’s breathing filled the awkward silence.

                “So,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “You’re really worried about him.”

                Dean stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “You’re not?”

                “I am,” Sam said. He looked at Castiel. “He saved me, Dean. He saved me from being Lucifer and Michael’s plaything for all eternity, and he must have taken the memories away too, because it’s like I just fell into that hole and then woke up on Bobby’s yard. He did all that, and got himself hurt in the process. Of course I’m worried.” Sam’s voice was thick. “If he,” Sam swallowed uncomfortably. “I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

                “Hey, no,” Dean said immediately, walking towards Sam. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. He made that choice all by himself.” Dean hadn’t realized the truth of those words until he said them out loud. Hearing them, having them physical, stirred something inside Dean he couldn’t explain. Castiel saved Sam, because he _chose_ to save Sam. He looked back to Castiel, on the bed, as still and lifeless as a corpse. Dean had seen the blows Castiel could take. And with God hitting Castiel’s reset button not once, but twice—maybe Dean had gotten spoiled. Maybe he thought, for once, that Castiel was different, something that couldn’t be tainted by Dean Winchester’s touch.

                Castiel breathed.

                Dean realized he was wrong. Not even angels were immune to his poisonous touch.

                Dean swallowed. “Go,” he said, patting Sam’s shoulder again. “Eat something. I’ll watch him.”

                “Dean, it’s okay, really. It’s only been a little bit—“

                “I’ve got it,” Dean said, almost snapping. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to yell at his brother. Sam didn’t understand. Keeping vigil was his job; Castiel was his responsibility. Dean taught the angel how to make choices, and now Castiel was hurt because of a choice he made. A choice Dean was glad he made.

                And. . . it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sam. Dean trusted Sam with every part of his being. He knew without a doubt that Sam wouldn’t hurt Cas, that Sam would tell Dean the very second he saw any signs of life, but. Dean would rather be the one doing this job.

                Sam looked at Dean with BitchFace Number Thirty-Three, but he sighed and stood, gesturing to the uncomfortable, wooden chair.

                “Your Majesty,” Sam said, rolling his eyes.

                Dean sat down straight and watched Cas’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, in the same steady rhythm.  Dean waited until he heard Sam close the door, before reaching out and taking Cas’s hand in his own.

                “Come on you son of a bitch,” Dean said, running his thumb over the back of Castiel’s palm. “You’re starting to scare me. So, come on. Shake it off. Rub some dirt in it, okay? Just. . . just give me something to work with, man. Anything.”

                Dean squeezed Cas’s hand.

                He almost jumped out of his skin when Cas squeezed back.

 

.

.

.

                Castiel continued to wake up in stages. His eyes would flicker beneath his eyelids. He would react to sounds—if someone was speaking, he would turn his head in their direction—and still would squeeze hands on command, sometimes even being aware enough to know left from right.

                It was two days after the first sign that his eyes opened.

                Dean was there, on the edge of same, uncomfortable seat. It took him a moment to comprehend what had happened. He’d spent the last ten days staring at an unmoving Castiel—almost like staring at a log—that he had come to expect against his hopes the same image on the bed. He spent two seconds staring at conscious Castiel before he realized what had happened.

                Dean almost fell out of the chair. He stumbled and swallowed, trying to crush down the thrill that had raced down his spine. Suddenly even breathing felt like too much stimulation and Dean chewed on his lip, too many thoughts racing through his mind.

                Castiel blinked slowly. His fingertips brushed against sheets.

                “Hey,” Dean said quietly. Castiel turned his head slowly. He was still clearly disorientated—Castiel had never looked anything besides sure and strong, his eyes never betraying any terror or indecision he may have had. Here, now, like this. Castiel’s eyes were distant. Dean could only wonder how far away his mind was. “Cas, how are you feeling?”

                Castiel furrowed his eyebrows. “Dean?”

                “Hey,” Dean said, leaning forward. He put his hand against Castiel’s forehead—it was warm, but Dean didn’t think it was at worry levels yet. “How are you feeling?” he repeated.

                Castiel looked blearily around the room. “Where?”

                “You’re at Bobby’s,” Dean said. “Remember? You made it to Bobby’s.”

                Cas’s eyes widened suddenly, and he shot up straight. Dean swore and put his hand on Cas’s shoulder, fighting to push him back down on the bed, screaming, “Jesus, Cas, lay down!”

                “Sam!” Castiel gasped, bucking under Dean like a fish out of water. “Is Sam okay?”

                “Sam’s fine,” Dean said. “He’s better than fine. You did it, Cas, you saved him.”

                Dean didn’t realize he was crying until he tasted the salty, hot tears on his lips, and his face was flushed red. “You saved him.”

                Castiel stilled, finally, but his muscles were locked in place, tight. “Sam’s okay?” he whispered.

                “Sam’s okay,” Dean said. He couldn’t help it any longer. He lunged towards Castiel again, wrapping his arms the angel. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, thank you-“ he mumbled it again and again, until the words tumbled together into incoherency. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. But it was all Dean had.

“You saved him—“ Dean was openly sobbing now, chest heaving, spine shaking. He cried like he hadn’t cried in _years_. Maybe since the night his father died; maybe even farther back than that, to the night when his house burned down and his mom disappeared and no one would tell him why or how. Sam was the only thing Dean had—Dean would have lost everything had Castiel not saved Sam.

Castiel relaxed in Dean’s grip, turned from stone to putty.

“Lucifer,” Castiel gasped, in what sounded like fevered delirium. “Lucifer—“

“He’s locked up, remember? We locked him up. That Michael dick too. We did it, Cas. We saved the world, remember?” Maybe Cas didn’t remember. He’d been comatose for over a week—it didn’t seem right to expect Cas to be running at a hundred percent right off the bat. Even now that he was awake and speaking, it seemed like he was spending energy he didn’t have. Dean ended the hug, scooting over back to the uncomfortable seat.

“Hey, you just rest up, okay?” Dean said, checking Cas’s temperature again. “We’ll take care of you, okay?”

But Castiel was already asleep again.

Dean wiped his face on the sleeve of his jacket. God, he was such a wuss.

.

.

.

                It took a month for Castiel to fully recover. During that time, he did the things he never had to before. He had to eat, and he had to sleep, and all the other nuances that came with those human annoyances. He had to use the bathroom, and he got tired, and suffered from the same stiff joints and throbbing, everyday aches that humans got.

                “I’m fine,” Castiel said, anytime anyone asked how he was. “My grace will recover. It will just take time.”

                Dean didn’t care about any of that, though. He’d take Cas in any shape or form, human or angel. If Cas’s grace never bounced back, if Cas was stuck human until he died a normal, human death, Dean would take him. The dude had saved _Sam_. From Hell, from Lucifer. Dean owed Castiel his life.

                So, if that meant letting Cas lean against him when they walked down the stairs, if that meant cooking all kinds of burgers and stews and pot pies for Cas to try and enjoy, if that meant cutting his hair  and showing him how to shave, Dean would still be in Cas’s debt.

                The first week after Cas woke up was the hardest. Being briefly human, and injured as he was, had sapped his immune system dry and left Castiel struck with a cold.

                So Dean did what he always did when Sam was sick; Cas’s first real introduction to human food was his mother’s recipe for tomato rice soup—which, in Dean’s humble opinion, was the best way to be introduced.

                Dean put the bowl on Cas’s lap, and Cas  stared down at it with a stricken expression, like it was a snake coiled to attack.

                “C’mon,” Dean said. “It’s not going to bite you. Do I have to pretend it’s a plane?”

                Cas looked at Dean very seriously. “But it’s not a plane.”

                “Yeah, I know it’s—it’s how you get babies to eat.” Dean reached out and put the spoon between Cas’s fingers. “You say, ‘Here comes the plane!’ and make goofy noises to make them smile. Do I need to do that?”

                Cas picked up the spoon, just barely a mouthful of soup resting inside it. He stared at it studiously. “And this is supposed to make me feel better? How?”

                “Magic,” Dean said.

                “There are no magical properties in this ‘soup’.”

                Dean resisted the urge to groan and bury his face in his hands. “Just eat it, okay? As someone who’s been human for their entire life, trust me. I know how we work.”

                Cas stared at Dean. “I trust you,” he said sincerely. “I don’t understand half of what you say, but I trust you.”

                Dean didn’t know to respond to that. His face burned up to the tops of his ears and he glanced away to stare at the far corner of the room. He made a mental note to dust the guest room—it really was disgusting, and really was not a place to be housing coma patients.

                Cas took his first bite of the soup and swallowed thickly. His eyebrows pinched.

                “It’s strange,” he said.

                “Don’t you go talking bad about my mom’s recipe,” Dean said jokingly.

                “No,” Cas said shaking his head. “The texture. It’s very strange. Nothing at all like the burgers I ate.” Castiel paused for a second; Dean could pinpoint his micro-expressions, when they turned from curiosity to fear. “Will this soup be like those burgers?”

                Dean snorted. “No,” he said. “Nothing like that. It will make you feel better, though—so shut up and eat.”

                Dean swore he saw the tiniest of smiles pull at the corners of Castiel’s mouth before he took a second bite.

.

.

.

                “You boys gonna start paying rent anytime soon?” Bobby grumbled one evening at the dinner table, slamming another dusty tome shut. “Least you could do after you eat me outta house and home every goddamned night.”

                “If it weren’t for us,” Dean said, “you’d be eating nothing but Lean Cuisine every night. _And_ you’d still be growing a new species in your fridge. You know that’s for food and not spell ingredients, right?” Dean dropped a plate in front of Bobby. It clattered on the table—Bobby didn’t even flinch, just started at the meal in front of him: a plate of homemade ravioli that Dean was very proud of, and Bobby grumbled under his breath before he began to eat.

                “Bobby’s right, though,” Sam said, typing slowly at his computer. “It’s time we get back in the groove of things, isn’t it? Start picking up cases?”

                “We can wait another day or two,” Dean said. “’Til Cas is in tip-top shape. His grace is almost fully recovered now.” So much so that Cas no longer needed to eat. Dean was kind of disappointed in that regard. He liked introducing Cas to different meals—plus, it gave him an excuse to hide behind so that he could experiment cooking different kinds of food. “Besides, what’s the rush anyway? We kind of stopped to Apocalypse, in case you forgot, Sam. I think that entitles us to a little vacation.”

                “It’s been over a month, Dean. And yeah, we stopped the Apocalypse—but there are still monsters in the world. People that need saving. It’s our job to help them.”

                Sam was right. Dean knew Sam was right. They might have stopped the Biggest Bads to ever Bad, but there were still the kind of everyday monsters they dealt with on a regular basis that terrorized the Average Joe just trying to his nine-to-five and not bother anyone. Though vampires, werewolves, vengeful spirits, shapeshifters, ancient curses, and all the other sorts of supernatural he and Sam dealt with on a daily basis seemed almost mundane compared to stopping freaking Satan himself.

                It was a job. Somebody had to do it.

                “Where is the angel anyway?” Bobby said, mouth full and marinara sauce stuck in his beard. Sam made a face, and even Dean had to fight back a chortled grin.

                “Out in the junkyard somewhere, I think,” Dean said.

                “He better not be screwing up any of my cars,” Bobby grumbled. “I _do_ have to make a living, you know.”

                “He’s not gonna break anything,” Dean said, sitting down with his own plate of food. He shoved the last plate across the table to Sam, who barely caught it before it tumbled off the edge. “He barely knows how to work the toaster—I think cars are still a little out of his element.”

                Cas had taken to spending the dusk hours out in the junkyard. Dean had seen him more than once sitting on the hood of one of Bobby’s junkers, staring up at the fiery sky. Dean went out once to ask him how he was doing. Ask him _what_ he was doing. Cas hadn’t met Dean’s eyes; instead he continued staring upwards.

                “Many ancient civilizations worshiped the sun,” Cas said. “It is the source of all life, and they believed it to be a god. They would offer sacrifices to it, in an effort to gain its favor. The Mayans especially. Every night, Dean. Every night they would drag their prisoners to the tops of their pyramids, and as a sacrifice, would rip the heart out of their prisoners, still beating, as an offering. And then they would kick the corpse down the pyramid, back to the ground.”

Dean clenched his teeth in disgust. “Gnarly,” he said, because he was at a loss for words. Where was Cas going with this?

“Every time the sun set, they weren’t sure it would come back up again. But as long as they made those sacrifices, it did. So they continued.”

“Where are you going with this?”

The sun was beginning to dip under the horizon, casting long, skinny shadows across Bobby’s junkyard.

“Modern humans know better, of course. Isn’t it strange? To think that there might come a day when the sun won’t be there?”

Dean looked over his shoulder, watched the sun dip even further under the skyline. The stars were beginning to become visible, just barely-there specks against the sky. “I guess so,” he said.

“But there _will_ be a day when the sun will disappear down the Earth and it won’t come back. And life as humans know it will be rooted upwards and thrown away.”

Okay, now Dean thought he could see where Cas might be going with this. Maybe?

“Bet you never thought you’d end up here, huh?” Dean said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. It was starting to get chilly, and the night air nipped at his skin, goosebumps forming at the nape of his neck.

“No,” Cas said, the corner of his lips turning slightly upwards; it was barely noticeable, but it was there. It wasn’t a happy smile, Dean noticed. It looked more wistful.

Dean realized just then: Cas had changed a lot just in the two years Dean had known him. Dean wondered how he hadn’t noticed before—was it really that gradual a change? It was in the way Cas held himself—less sure, less stiff and straight forwarded. And in the way he spoke. Before, he always spoke slowly, like each word was a test, he wasn’t sure of the language. Now, Cas spoke more casually.

Despite this though, there was still something about Cas—his ‘aura’ or whatever bullshit Sam would say---that was otherworldly.

The Castiel from two years ago probably never would have imagined himself sitting on top of a beat-up Firebird, watching sunsets and discussing philosophy with the Michael Sword.

“I don’t regret anything,” Cas said suddenly. It jarred Dean out of his thoughts. He looked up, and Cas was staring at him. “I know I made the right decisions.”

“You’re still upset about the cost, though.”

Cas’s decisions to help the Winchesters fight against the Apocalypse had cost him his family, cost him the respect he had from the other angels, cost him _Heaven._ Dean didn’t know how Cas couldn’t regret it.

He didn’t realize he’d said that part out loud until Cas answered, “I said I don’t regret the decisions I made. I didn’t say I didn’t miss what they cost.”

Dean had nothing to answer to that, and Cas didn’t offer anything else to say, so Dean ended up going back inside, and every evening since, Cas would go out into the junkyard, sit on the old Firebird, and watch the sunset.  Dean left him alone, because he felt like he was only intruding now, on Cas mourning all he lost.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, his dinner still untouched as his fingers flew across his laptop. “He’s a fast learner. Probably won’t take him long to get the hang of cars. Actually, I guess you’re right. He needs the crash course in Hunting 101 before we take him anywhere.”

                “You’re taking him?” Bobby said.

                “Of course we are,” Dean said, hastily, defensive. “What else would we do with him?”

                Bobby shrugged. “Figured you guys would go your separate ways.”

                “He doesn’t have anywhere _to_ go,” Dean snapped.

                “Dean,” Sam said.

                “Sheesh,” Bobby said. “Didn’t mean to offend, Princess. Didn’t realize you got attached.”

                The color drained from Dean’s face, and with it, went his appetite. He shoved his plate away from him. It scraped on Bobby’s crappy table, and he jolted up from his seat, the chair rattling against the cheap linoleum.

                The screen door swung behind him, crashing into the door frame, but Dean didn’t care.

                And then he saw Cas, exactly where Dean knew he would be.

                Dean sighed, and all the tension sank out of his body. He walked forward, the dead grass crunching underneath his boots.

                “Hey,” Dean said, scratching the back of his head.

                Cas turned to face him. “Hello, Dean.”

                He looked so different than he did just a month ago—sometimes, Dean couldn’t believe the Cas he was seeing now was the same person. The dark circles under his eyes were gone, as was just the general sickliness he had. To go from comatose to upright, walking, talking, back to his angelic self in just a month…

                Well, it wasn’t as fast as it could’ve been. But Dean would take it. And Cas wasn’t as strong as he used to be, but he helped them save the world, and he saved Sam—Dean would take him in any form, even that comatose, unmoving figure on the bed he was a month ago.

                “So,” Dean coughed into his hand. “Uh, Sam’s been itching to get back into the game. Hunting, you know.”

                “It’s what you and Sam do best.”

                “Yeah. Yeah, we do a pretty good job of it. You’re gonna come with us, right?”

                There was a pregnant pause.

                Cas’s eyebrows furrowed. “You want me to go with you?”

                “Yeah.”

                “But, Dean. I’m. . .I’m _fallen_. I’m not as strong—“

                “You’re still pretty fucking strong, dude. And anyway, I don’t care about that! You’re an honorary Winchester, you know that right? After all you’ve done for us?”

                He saved Sam. He saved _Sam._

                Cas blinked.

                “Anyway,” Dean said. “You’re coming with us—if you want I mean—um…”

                Cas stood up from the hood of the Firebird. “I’d like that very much, Dean.”

                “You do?” Dean’s heart thrummed against his ribcage. He coughed again and forced himself to calm down, act like something besides a twelve year old girl with a crush. “I mean, that’s cool. That’s great.” Dean smiled, but it felt plastic on his face. He didn’t know what it was about Castiel that made him feel this way.

                “Uh,” Dean said. Cas was staring at him intensely. “Well, we can’t just throw you into the game. Gotta teach you the basics first, right? Gun, car, interviewing—the bread and butter. Sam’s ready to teach you. If you want.”

                Cas looked back to the sky briefly. Something in Dean’s chest clenched, a vise around his heart that squeezed. Dean felt his heart might explode.

                Then it was gone.

                “I’d like that,” Cas said.

                “I know it can’t hold a candle to all those grand celestial battles you’re used to,” Dean said. “But, we help people.”

“I know,” Cas said. “I want that.”

“Good,” Dean said. “Cool. So, uh, first thing tomorrow I guess, we’ll take you out shooting. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

Castiel offered nothing, and Dean didn’t know what he could add, so they stood there together until the sun was gone, dipped beyond the Earth.

.

.

.

                “Oh, c’mon!” Dean said, throwing his hands up in the air. “That is just not fair!”

                “Did I do poorly?” Castiel asked, staring at the pistol in his hand, smoke still pooling from the barrel.

                Sam smothered a laugh behind his hand. “No way, Cas,” he said. “That was awesome!”

                Ten broken bottles, each a bulls-eye shot, laid shattered across Bobby’s yard. The different colored shards of glass reflected the sunlight, casting rainbows across the different bodies of the various cars.

                “I thought you said you didn’t know how to shoot a gun,” Dean said.

                “I didn’t,” Cas said. “You just taught me.”

                “But, you’re shooting like a pro!”

                Dean had been shooting since he was six, and even then it had taken him until he was ten to feel totally comfortably holding a gun, knowing he could bulls-eye his target.

                Dean rubbed at his face and stared at the broken pieces of glass on the ground. He sighed. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

                “Bet you can’t do that with a shotgun,” he told Cas.

.

.

.

                After practicing with guns, the only natural next step was driving. Dean had anxiety about it, even though he knew it was something that _had_ to be done. What if both he and Sam were incapacitated somehow? Cas would have to be able to drive them to safety—Angel Air just wasn’t a safe nor reliable means for travel anymore not since….

                Well, Cas hadn’t said anything specific, but since waking from his coma, he’d hinted that maybe Angel Air wasn’t a possibility anymore. Dean didn’t know how to respond to Cas’s vague comments, and it wasn’t his place to ask anyway, so he didn’t.

                So driving it was. Dean had had several day-mares of Cas mistaking the accelerator for the brake, or forgetting to switch from reverse to drive, or any of the other clichéd, horrible mistakes that happened in the movies when teaching someone to drive.

                Dean never expected the opposite to happen.                                 

                “Okay,” Dean said, more impatient now than nervous. “You can go a little faster you know.”  Dean glanced down to the dashboard, where the needle was barely hovering the ’10’ mark.

                Cas’s fingers were white-knuckled at the ten-and-two positions, and he looked up in the rear view mirror exactly every eight seconds.

                “It’s just a backroad,” Dean said. “There’s not any traffic. C’mon, go a bit faster.”

                Castiel pressed down on the gas pedal slightly, and the needle moved from ‘10’ to ‘15’.

                “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this nervous,” Dean said, chuckling. “Except that time I took you to the brothel—man, if you could’ve seen your face then!”

                “I don’t want to damage your car,” Cas said, eyes locked straight ahead at the road.    
               

“C’mon, man, Baby’s a lady, but you don’t gotta treat her so fragile. She’s tough as nails, can take a beating or two.”

                Dean had rebuilt the Impala piece by piece after it had been t-boned by that semi all those years ago. And then Dean had taken a crowbar to it right after. If Baby could survive that, surely she could survive whatever Cas could put her through…

                Cas swallowed. Dean watched Cas’s Adam’s apple travel down the length of his throat.

                “I don’t like this method of transportation,” Castiel said. “It’s so slow.”

                “Well, you are going forty under the speed limit.”

                “If I go the speed limit, and there is a collision, your body will continue to go at speeds of at least  fifty-miles an hour—“

                “I may be a dropout, but I know how basic physics works—“

                “—You are wearing your seatbelt, which _might_ keep you from sailing through the windshield, but you will definitely break ribs, which will probably puncture your lungs—“

                “You must be fun at parties—“

                “And what if I _can’t_ heal you?” Cas’s voice raised slightly at the end, a note of panic latched onto the words.

                _Oh._

                Oh.        

                Dean felt like an ass.

                “You don’t gotta worry about me, Cas,” Dean said. “I’m a big boy.”

                “But I do have to worry. You’re human, Dean. Your body is so fragile---everything is a hazard! Car crashes---Dean, did you know that car crashes account for the deaths of over one million Americans a year?—and not to mention your cholesterol!”

                “Hey!”

“With your eating habits, it’s an actual miracle you haven’t yet suffered cardiac arrest.”

“I spend my life running from monsters, it evens out the bacon cheeseburgers!”

“Or even an aneurysm,” Castiel continued. “With all your concussions, you could have a blood clot resting somewhere in your brain that can pop at any moment, and you won’t have time to cry for help, or in pain, before you bleed out.”

“Parties, man, I’m telling you, with your comedy act, you can book ‘em.”

“Dean, this isn’t a joke!”

The silence in the car was thick like snow. The car still trailed a laughable speed—a horde of cyclists began to pass them, and Dean had to swallow down his agony at the sight.

“So. . . you’re saying your grace isn’t up to speed?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, fingers gripping the steering wheel even tighter. “I’ve been afraid to test it.”

Afraid it wouldn’t work, Dean thought. He didn’t know what to say. He doubted Hallmark had a card that said, _Sorry your angel powers don’t work anymore and you’re just another lousy piece of human garbage._

“Pull over,” Dean said. “Check your mirrors and pull over.”

Castiel actually looked over his shoulder to check his blind spot, put on his blinkers, pulled off to the shoulder of the road and coasted for another several feet before he put the car in park.

“Hey,” Dean said, nudging Cas’s shoulder slightly. His mouth was dry—he wished Sam was here, actually. Sam was better at this mushy, heart-to-heart, empathy crap. It was why Sam took the lead on the case interviews, why Sam stayed behind to patch victims up before sending them on their merry way, why Sam had wanted to fulfill his civic duty and study criminal law.

But Sam wasn’t here. Sam was behind them, roughly five miles back, loitering in Bobby’s living room and probably stuffing his face with those disgusting peanut butter banana sandwiches he loved so much.

Dean was on his own for this one.

“Look,” Dean said. “Don’t get me wrong—your angel mojo is pretty damn sweet. But it’s not necessary. Me and Sam have been doing this job a long time before we knew you and we did just fine. I get being scared.” Boy, did Dean ever understand Cas’s fear of knowing—sometimes not knowing was better, Dean thought. Sometimes it was nice to bask in a little ignorance and hold onto to a single modicum of hope as long as you could. He wasn’t going to push Cas to test his mojo when the poor bastard was already looking to be on the precipice of a panic attack. “But-but you’re more than an angel. You’re our friend. And you’re a damn good fighter without Heaven backing you up.”

Because Cas taking down Pestilence had been fucking _epic._ And kind of hot.

Not that Dean would ever admit it out loud, though.

“We couldn’t have taken down Lucifer without you,” Dean added.

Castiel was silent for a long moment. Then, the tension slinked out of his shoulders. “Thank you Dean.”

Dean smacked his lips.

“C’mon, let’s head back to Bobby’s. See if Sam has done anything useful and found us a case. Actually, switch seats with me. I’m driving.”

.

.

.

                Sam was waiting outside in Bobby’s junkyard when they drove back. Castiel had calmed down somewhat once Dean had them switch spots. Dean revved the engine of his Baby, grinning wildly at Cas as he did so.

                “This,” he said, “is how a car should sound.”

                Dean parked Baby, frowning. Sam had his laptop tucked under his arm and he had a face Dean was familiar with—his worried look.

                “That’s no bueno,” Dean said, putting the car in park. “Let’s see what he’s up to.”

                Dean exited the car, slamming the door behind him. Castiel trailed quickly after—opening the door and getting out the normal way, instead of just poofing out like he used to. Dean didn’t have time to think about that, though. Sam was walking towards them, opening his laptop.

                “What’s up?” Dean said. Sam’s bottom lip was out, his hair was a mess.

                “Look at this,” Sam said in a clipped tone, shoving the computer at Dean. Dean flinched, and almost dropped the laptop, but barely managed to snag onto it at the last moment.  

                Dean huffed, but he was speechless after he got the computer upright and could see what it was that had Sam’s panties is such a tight twist.

                It was a news article.

                **_FAMILY OF FIVE DEAD, SATANISTS SOUGHT_**

Dean chuckled, but there was no humor behind it. His lips became dry, as though he’d been standing in a desert. “Well, that’s a headline if I ever saw one.”

                Dean was aware of Castiel standing behind him, reading over Dean’s shoulder. Dean tilted the screen slightly so that Cas could see easier.

               

**_Las Vegas—When her co-worker, Jennifer Stewart, a single mom, neither called in nor showed up to work two days in a row, Margo Roberts knew something was wrong._ **

**_“Jen loves her job,” Roberts said in an exclusive interview with the_ Las Vegas Review. _“She’s a hard worker. If she had to miss work for any reason, she would give some sort of notice.”_**

**_Worried for her friend, Roberts went to Stewart’s house after her shift. What she found terrified her._ **

**_“There was blood everywhere! Not a square inch seemed to be clean of it. The furniture and electronics were all there, same as they always are, but there was just blood everywhere! And pentagrams!”_ **

**_When police arrived on scene, they too were horrified. Pentagrams drawn in the victims’ blood decorated the walls and flooring. Also on the floor were strange symbols that appear to be some sort of ancient language. Detectives are consulting with linguistic experts to determine what the language is, and what the culprit is saying._ **

**_“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Officer Mitchell, a twenty-year veteran, shared with us. “This is the sort of stuff you seen in movies, or television. I ain’t ever seen anything like this in real life.”_ **

**_Jennifer Stewart, along with her four children, were slain in their family home sometime between 8pm Saturday night and 6am the following Sunday morning. Investigators suspect the family was tortured for hours before they each died from blood loss. According to the medical examiner’s report, Stewart died last._ **

**_“Please,” Roberts said, “if anyone knows anything, please come forward! Jen didn’t deserve this and neither did her babies.”_ **

  **_If you have any leads, please contact the Las Vegas Police Depart._**

 

A number and address was typed underneath the report. There was a picture of the family, hugging, smiling—a picturesque American family, just like anyone might have imagined them to be.

“We knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later,” Sam said. He rubbed at his nose with his sleeve. “It’s gotta be demons. They’re pissed Lucifer is caged up.”

“Well, what are they trying to do? Raise him again?”

“Lucifer cannot be freed,” Castiel said. “The Cage was designed for him. Now that the seals are destroyed, there isn’t a key to free him.”

“So, what’s their game then?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “What’s always been their game? They’re demons—they don’t need one. Violence for the sake of violence—they get off on it. It’s fun.”

“Maybe,” Dean said. “But what’s with the theatrics, then? The blood painting? Demons are typically “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” and just leave the corpse behind.”

“I don’t know. You got any ideas, Cas?”

“It’s unwise to try and assume what a demon might be thinking,” Castiel said. “Dean’s right—their motives are typically hedonistic in nature, but with Lucifer being trapped once more…who knows?”

Dean closed the laptop. “All right then. Looks like we’re going to Vegas!”


	2. Part II

 

**PART II**

                Just under a few hours later, Dean, Sam and Castiel were in the Impala, bags packed away in the trunk, and they were on the highway, headed down towards Nevada. Dean had the windows cracked and his radio blaring. Sam rolled his eyes, and Cas just looked at the radio the same way he looked at anything—like it was a single piece of the puzzle and he was trying to see the whole picture.

                Dean grinned at Cas in the rearview mirror, and he couldn’t help the giddy excitement that raced through his veins. He had been going through a little cabin fever these last few weeks, cooped up in Bobby’s house with nothing to occupy his mind beside educating Cas in the wonderful world of sci-fi movies.

                He loved this job. He needed to hunt down the evil sons of bitches that lurked in the shadows and preyed on innocent people. Even with him finishing off the final Boss Fight, fighting down Satan himself, Dean couldn’t wait to get to Nevada and back in the game. Even better, he couldn’t wait to teach Cas the ins and outs of the hunt. Cas had helped them with hunts here and there during the looming Apocalypse—he’d even taken out Pestilence all on his own. Granted, Cas’s people skills needed some fine-tuning, but that was something that they could work on at the scene. And they still weren’t sure about Cas’s angel mojo, but again—he’d taken down Pestilence with just a “smidge” of grace—so that wasn’t going to be an issue. He was a badass then, he’d be a badass now. He handled a gun like a professional—

                This was going to be awesome.

                Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel to the tune of _It’s My Life_ , and he grinned like a maniac when he caught Cas’s eye in the mirror.

                “You know they’ve made music past 1985,” Sam said.

                “If you can even call it music,” Dean said. “Which I don’t. You can keep your Lady Gaga, Sammy, I’ll keep my Bon Jovi.”

                “You might like it,” Sam said. “I bet you’d really dig Taylor Swift.”

                “Who?”

                “She’s the new teen hot-shot. People are saying she’s gonna bigger than Britney Spears.”

  
                “ _Who?_ ”

                Sam turned his head to look back over his seat. “Dean’s been living under a rock while the rest of the world has moved into the twenty-first century,” he said with a cheeky grin.

                Dean glanced up in the rearview. Cas’s eyes were wide and his brows were pinched.

                “I thought you lived in the Impala,” Cas said slowly.

                Dean grinned, and chuckled to himself, while Sam sighed in exasperation and turned back around, muttering something about “Good God, there’s two of them.”

                “I can’t believe you’re limiting Cas’s cultural knowledge to the 80s. Not America’s best years.”

                “We’ve got Bon Jovi, String, Lynrd Skynrd, AC/DC—what’s not to love about the 80s?”

                “The AIDS epidemic,” Sam said. “The introduction of crack-cocaine into inner cities by the CIA. We elected a _movie star_ to be our president.”

                “Pfft,” Dean said. “Hey, Cas, can you believe this nerd? All politics.”

                “I got accepted into _law school_ in case you’re forgetting. Stanford law school.”

                “Geez, you want a medal or something?”

                “There’s a world outside hunting, you know.”

                “Yeah, it’s the world we protect. We save that world, Sammy. We don’t live in it.”

                Truth be told, Dean didn’t keep up with the news outside weather and looking for cases. Much of it didn’t apply to him. They were nomads, bouncing from a roach-infested motel to a bedbug infested motel, coast to coast. They lived off the grid, and as far as the FBI was concerned, he and Sam died years ago in an unfortunate helicopter explosion. The “real” world that other people lived in didn’t apply to him.

                Sam sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “You sure you know what you’re getting into, Cas?” Sam asked.

                Cas was quiet for a moment. “Truthfully,” he said slowly, and Dean’s heart seized up inside his chest for a moment. For a moment, Dean was sure his heart actually stopped beating. “I have no idea what anything you just said means. I don’t understand—what makes a “movie” star different from a normal star?”

                Dean’s heart relaxed, and something uncoiled inside his chest he didn’t know he’d been holding onto. Dean glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye, and saw Sam smiling, despite himself. They held it together for about two seconds before they were both laughing over the music.

                Cas was still confused, and Dean felt a little bad about laughing at his expense, but it was funny to think about. Cas spoke every language on Earth, performed quantum physics and calculus with the sort of ease one did with addition, could argue philosophy until you were bored to tears—and there were still all these little mundane, human trivialities that still tripped him up. It was cute.

                Dean’s train of thought crashed at that moment, and he swallowed. It was hard to stay focused on the road in front of him—his mind kept drifting back to that tiny, last part. Cas’s Confused Face ™ and the way he tilted his head reminded Dean of a baby and….it was cute.

                Dean had to squash that idea right there. Castiel was an angel. What was it Cas said? He was one-thousand feet tall. Older than dirt, literally. Scary as all get-out when he was pissed. Castiel was a force of nature, a tornado caught in a bag. Capable of leveling an entire town with just a snap of his fingers.

                Castiel was definitely, not in any way, shape, or how, cute.

                Sam then plowed into an explanation of what a “movie star” was, which then lead to another conversation about “calling things something they’re not” that Dean happily ignored as he continued driving down the long stretch of Interstate.

.

.

.

                They stopped for a rest just on the edge of the Utah/Colorado border. The visitor’s center sign was yellowed with age, and some letters had faded away after years of weathering. Dean unloaded his and Sam’s duffel bags while Sam went to check into a room that hopefully didn’t have cockroaches crawling out from the crevices between the walls and the floor.

                “Hold this,” Dean said, groaning as he shoved Sam’s bags into Cas’s hands. Cas carried it like it was nothing, but Dean could feel the tension in his back. “Probably just all his hair products anyway,” Dean told Cas. “He’s got to have a second bag here with his clothes in it.”

                Cas just blinked, and shuffled his feet. Looking over at him, with only a flickering street lamp to illuminate the parking lot, Dean noticed the dark bags under Cas’s eyes, and the way his shoulders just slightly slumped forward.

                “Hey, you doing okay?” Dean asked as he slammed the trunk closed.

                “I’m….” Cas paused for a moment. “Tired,” he said eventually, a little unsure.

                Dean nodded. “I feel ya,” he said, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat. “It ain’t fun getting crammed in the backseat like a sardine.”

                Three long seconds ticked by where neither one said anything. Dean coughed.

                “You don’t have to stick in the car with us,” he said. “You still afraid Angel Air ain’t an option anymore?”

                Castiel looked back over his shoulder. Dean peered around, but he couldn’t see anything other than the other cars parked behind them. But that wasn’t what Cas was looking at.

                “It’s a viable fear,” Cas said. “The car is uncomfortable. Slow. Exhausting—“

                “Hey, now,” Dean said in a warning tone.

                “But,” Cas said sternly. “I like being around you and Sam…”

                It was the second time Cas had told him that. Dean was thankful that Sam wasn’t around to hear it, because Dean didn’t think he could take the teasing, or the jabs about opening up with his feelings. Damn it, his life was a horror movie, not a frigging rom-com. Dean would always take the horror option over the rom-com.

                “Well,” Dean said, scratching at the back of his neck. “We like having you around. Seriously, man. Don’t ever doubt it.”

“Hey!” Sam’s voice broke through the air. He stood outside a door, jangling a set of keys in his hand. “Got a room. I call first dibs on the shower!”

“Oh no you don’t!” Dean yelled, storming across the parking lot with his duffel slung over his shoulder. “You’re just going to clog the drain with all your hair and hair soaps!”

“It’s called conditioner, Dean,” Sam said as he opened the door. “You should try it sometime.”

“No thanks,” Dean spat as he and Sam tried to wrestle one another through the door. Sam was taller and tried to climb over Dean, but Dean was broader, shoulders wider, and he blocked Sam’s attempt every time. They were tangled together like a pretzel, knocking elbows into ribs, bashing skulls, and scrabbling like two cats over a piece of meat.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, stuck in the doorway, but eventually he got loose. His right foot moved, and Dean grinned in triumph as he tried to pull his left leg forward and—

He landed on his face, rubbing it against the coarse carpet. Dean cursed in pain as Sam hopped over him and into the bathroom.

“Damn it,” Dean said pressing his hand against his cheek. His face was on fire, and he had to clamp his eyes shut. Warm, reflex tears began to swell up in his eyes. Behind him, he could hear the shower turning on.

“Here,” Cas’s voice broke through and there was a gentle hand on his forehead. Before Dean could react, he was struck with a familiar sensation. It was cold, but a good cold; like jumping into a pool on a scorching summer day. It coursed through his entire body. He could feel it in individual fingers and toes, spreading out like a spider’s web.

The pain in his face was gone. So was the ache in his back from driving all day.

Dean opened his eyes slowly. His vision was a bit blurry from the tears, but it was unmistakably Castiel standing in front of him, peering down with a worried lip.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, rubbing his cheek. No pain at all. Dean grinned widely. “Hey, looks like you’ve still got your healing mojo.”

Cas looked at his fingertips and then at Dean. “It was a minimal injury,” Castiel said. “But it is promising.”

“Guess I have to go break a leg to see if you can do major injuries, huh.”

Castiel frowned. “That seems uncouth,” he said.

“What?”

“Impolite.”

“Ah, come on, it can’t be any worse than just waltzing into someone’s home uninvited.”

“Isn’t that what you do at Bobby’s house?”

“Hey, Bobby’s place is an open invitation. We’re always invited there, even when he says we aren’t.”

“It’s still hazardous to injure yourself on purpose just to try test my grace.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I won’t break my own leg, you happy?”

“Yes,” Cas said, matching Dean’s dramatic tone.

Dean turned around, face reddening for an entire new reason.

Nope, he thought to himself.

Definitely not cute. Not at all.

 

.

.

.

                When they finally made it to Las Vegas the next day, Dean’s joints were stiff from driving, and his ears rang with Sam’s constant bitching about changing the radio.

                It was evening, but Dean still had hopes for starting the investigation, including checking out the crime scene. Stuck in another grimy motel room, Dean took out the lint brush and handed it to Castiel.

                “Clean up,” Dean instructed. “We need to be presentable for the local cops. And for God’s sake, man, do something with your hair!”

                Dean turned around and began to dig through his bag for his pair of nice shoes, Sam was in the bathroom shaving—a thousand thoughts swam through Dean’s mind, facts about the case, heart panging at the thought of the victims, vengeance pooling when he envisioned finding and hunting down the bastard.

                Dean hooped on one foot to get his shoes on, and once they were on, he pulled the first tie sticking out of his duffel and flung it around his neck.

                Dean turned around as he did up his tie, and there was Castiel, using the lint brush on his hair.

                “C’mon, man,” Dean sighed shaking his head. He took the brush from Castiel. “This isn’t for your head!”

                “But you said—“

                Dean shook his head. “I know what I said, I—never mind. Here.” Dean used the lint brush on Castiel quickly, going in large motions from his shoulder to waist. Dean instructed Cas to take off the trench coat and folded it over his elbow, adding, “You like a serial killer in it,” and then did Cas’s back.

                “Seriously man,” Dean said, patting Cas’s hair down with his hands. “Why can’t you keep this neat?”

                “I’m sorry?”

                “Forget it,” Dean said, giving up, when another patch of hair in the back sprung back to life like a weed. “It’ll have to do. Now, remember what we talked about—“

                “Let you do the talking,” Cas said, a tinge of irritation and annoyance decorating his voice. Dean clapped him on the shoulder.

                “Good boy,” Dean said. The trench coat hung off his arm like a curtain and Dean curled his fingers into the fabric. He didn’t understand why Cas liked it so much. It was scratchy and at least a size too big for him. It swallowed him whole, and only added to the serial killer vibe that radiated off Cas with his intense, scrutinizing staring.

But, Dean did have to admit, Cas didn’t look like _Cas_ without the stupid thing. Dean had been stupefied that time when Cas got repoed back to Bible Camp and left behind Jimmy Novak. He’d been astounded by how different they looked. It didn’t make any sort of sense. He knew intellectually the entire time that Cas had been possessing someone, wearing their face—Jimmy Novak’s face.

But when he met Jimmy Novak—it was like looking at an entire different person. Just everything about them was different. Mannerisms, expressions, voice, attitude—all the little things that built up and made Jimmy and Castiel different.

Without the coat, Cas looked closer to Jimmy Novak, God rest his soul, wherever that Jerkoff may be.

“Is this…presentable?” Cas said, staring down at his clothes.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, placing the coat on the bed. “Just, lemme…hold on.” Dean quickly fixed Cas’s stupid tie that somehow had been turned backwards again. He pulled the knot tight and turned it the right way and then he pulled his hands away from Castiel like he’d been burned, taking a step back for good measure. “There,” Dean said, just as Sam came out of the bathroom, dabbing a towel against his face. “We’ll make a Fed out of you yet.”

“We got to get going,” Sam said. “It’s already gonna be suspicious enough we’re heading to the scene this late, but with three of us, we’re gonna need to keep look out.”

“Let’s go, then,” Dean said.

.

.

.

                The house wasn’t hard to find. It was in a modest, suburban neighborhood, blocked off by yards of yellow CAUTION tape. The entire perimeter was marked off, and a squad car was parked on the street in front of it.

                “Show time,” Dean said, putting the car in park. Sam began to dig through the glove box for the right kinds of ID and pulled out three FBI badges, courtesy of Photoshop and Kinkos.

                “Here,” Sam said, reaching back towards Cas. “You’re gonna show the officer your badge. Make sure they see the FBI part, but it’s quick enough they can’t read any of it.”

                “And don’t do it upside down,” Dean added. Sam shot Dean a curious look, and Dean shrugged. “What? You think we sipped daiquiris and marathoned Sandra Bullock movies while you were on your blood bender?”

                “You took him hunting?” Sam said.

                “And to a den of iniquity,” Cas added from the backseat, holding his badge like a sacrament.

                Sam side eyed Dean and huffed in lieu of laughter, but Dean knew that look on his brother’s face. Sam wanted to say something, and was holding back for some reason. Dean’s face burned in embarrassment as he thought to that night. It had been a good night. It had been fun. He got to drink, be around beautiful women, see an angel of the lord almost cry, _and_ tell an archangel off. Now there was a day he’d like to live again and again. Why couldn’t that arch-douche Gabriel stick him in that time loop?

                “Dean,” Cas said very seriously, reaching over the front seat with his hand. He placed it on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed. “Dean, please do not take me to another den of iniquity.”

                Now Sam was really struggling to hold in his laughter, and Dean had a mind to just punch him in the face but resisted only because there was a cop ten feet ahead of them.

                “Considering you got us kicked out of the last one, we’re probably on a list somewhere anyway,” Dean said in response and then was out the car before Sam could ask what any of that even meant.

                The police officer got out of the car as she saw them approaching.

                “Yes?” she said, hands on her hips. “This is a restricted area.”  
                Dean and Sam flashed their badges with practiced ease, Cas just one step behind them.

                “Officer,” Dean said, flashing her his best grin. “I’m Agent Rudd, this is Agent Young,” he pointed to Sam, “and that’s Agent Slade.”

                She didn’t react to the names at all, and Dean checked a mental victory. It was always surprising how much they got away with it. Sheesh.

                “We’re here to investigate the Stewart case.” Dean glanced down at her badge. “Officer Montoya,” he added.

                Montoya sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Was wondering when the Feds were gonna get here. Frankly, I’m surprised it took you this long. Usually you guys can’t wait to stick your fingers into this Satanic cult shit.”

                “Have you identified any suspects?” Sam asked.

                Montoya shook her head. “None. From what we can tell, this attack was completely random. Well, except for ritualistic sacrifice junk, but Jen was well-loved. Didn’t have any enemies, no one out there that would want to hurt her, especially not like this.”

                “Not even an ex-husband? The paper mentioned she was a single mother,” Sam said.

                “Nope,” Montoya said, popping her lips. “Ex’s got a rock-solid alibi. He lives in Fresno now with his new girlfriend. We’ve got a timestamp of him leaving his job 10pm the night of the murder, came back 7am the next day. Not enough time to drive all the way down here, kill these poor people like this, and get back to work in time. Besides,” Montoya said, backing away from her car and heading towards the house, “we called him and he was so distraught. Of course he would be, but he was genuinely distraught, not the type that you pretend to be when you’re the guilty party.”

                Dean looked over the yard. It was full of children’s toys. Bikes, sprinklers, and a little plastic pool were scattered about, stained with use.

                “Where’s the investigation going then?” Dean asked. He glanced behind him just to make sure Cas was still following. Cas looked over every inch with scrutiny, smelt the air. His eyes swept over little, innate details, and Dean wondered what it was Cas was seeing that they couldn’t.

                “Perp came in through the front door,” Montoya said, opening the door just a crack. She paused and looked back over her shoulder. “It really is horrific inside, just so you know,” she said. “The papers can’t ever hope to do it justice.”

                She waited until Dean and Sam nodded before swallowing and opening the door all the way. She immediately turned away and began walking down the driveway.

                “Well, there you go boys,” she yelled as she headed back to her car. “See what you can see, but I ain’t going back in there, not for all the money in the world!” She entered her car through the passenger side door and started the ignition in record time.

                “Weird,” Dean muttered, peeking into the door.

                The smell of blood hit him at once. “God,” he said, pulling his shirt up over his noise. It was more pungent than normal. Dean stepped forward, and his boot made a squishing sound over the carpet. Dean’s skin crawled and he took another step, hearing the same sound.

                Sam and Castiel followed right behind him, and the sound kept repeating, over and over, like nails on a chalkboard.

                “Someone find a light, will ya?” Dean complained searching for the walls.

                “Got it,” Sam said. He flicked on the lights.

                Dean’s stomach dropped into his shoes.

                Blood was everywhere. Of course, Dean knew blood was everywhere at the crime scene—the papers had said so.

                But there was blood _everywhere_. The walls had turned into some Picasso type mural, splattered with it, just hints of white specks peeking through now and again.

                The carpet was saturated in it, and as Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the squishing sound happened again, making Dean’s blood run cold.

                His boots were coated in a flimsy film of it, nudging up towards his pants legs.

                The furniture was all intact. Nothing was flipped over, or visibly busted or destroyed. There was a pile of children’s toys tucked away in a far corner and seemed to be the only thing untouched by the red splatter.

                Dean peered away from the living room, into a door that lead to the kitchen. He saw the white outlines of what must have been the mother from the size, an incredibly smaller one next to it. The kitchen had the same treatment, and Dean didn’t think he could handle climbing up the stairs to survey the rest.

                “Definitely demons,” Dean said quietly. He feared if he spoke loudly, he’d get sick.

                “I’d says so,” Sam said, eyes scanning every inch almost emotionless in their shock. “Why though? Violence for violence, but this….this is…a little much, don’t you think? Even for demons?”

                “He’s looking for something,” Castiel said. It was the first he’d spoken since they left the car, and it caused both brothers to whip their heads around quickly.

                “Huh?” Dean said, covering his mouth as another wave of nausea hit.

                Castiel pointed to the ceiling and Dean and Sam followed. There was a script written on the ceiling, in blood, that had dried away and now was just a scab on the sky. Dean twisted and turned, but he couldn’t read it, and only barely recognized that it was in Enochian.

                “That’s strange,” Cas said.

                “There’s a lot about all of this that’s strange, Cas,” Dean spat.

                “Demons don’t use Enochian,” Castiel said matter-of-factly, shooting Dean an annoyed glare. “They use Latin or Greek for their spells. Enochian belongs to angels.”

                “So an angel did this?” Sam asked, and Dean’s stomach did a flip. He knew angels were dicks, capable of torture and even murder, but could they really go to this extreme?

                Castiel stared at the writing for a bit and then shook his head. “No, it was definitely a demon. An angel wouldn’t be so macabre about it.”

                “Just tell us what the damn things says already.” The longer Dean stayed in here, the more sure he was that he was going to be sick. Dean had spent forty years in Hell, had been tortured and torturer, and standing inside this confided space of death and pain was pressing a weight against Dean’s brain.

                Castiel made a noise of frustration. “I’m trying,” he said. “But Enochian…it doesn’t translate well into English. The demon is looking for something…something he lost a long time ago. Something he loves. Uh, he’s angry about Lucifer. ‘Lucifer is the True King; He will Rise Once More’…” Castiel looked at Dean forlornly. “I don’t understand why he would kill this family.”

                “Maybe there’s another Seal?” Sam suggested.

                Castiel shook his head. “Even if there were, it wouldn’t matter. The First and Last seals have to be completed—both of them have already been broken. There isn’t a way to re-break them.”

                “You’re sure there isn’t another way to raise Lucifer?” Sam asked.

                Castiel chewed on his lower lip. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, guilt pooling in the bottom of Dean’s stomach.

“He will strike again,” Castiel said. He pointed to a specific set of script, twirls and circles Dean couldn’t even begin to fathom into words. “That’s what that part says. He will keep going until Lucifer has claimed his throne.”

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, looking around despite himself. All the blood. A family dead. How many lives destroyed? “How are we supposed to stop him?”

“He’ll come back,” Castiel said. “To find what he’s looking for.”

“But what is it that he’s looking for?” Dean pressed.

Castiel pointed to another set of script. “ _En aziazor,_ ” Castiel whispered, voice low and rough, dragging out the consonant sounds like silk over gravel. “Something he loves. Truly loves.”

Dean snorted. “Demons can’t love,” he said.

Castiel nodded. “I would agree to that.”

.

.

.

                Beelzebub flexed his fingers, testing each one, bending it to the palm and up. He moved all of his fingers together, moved them like a wave, did it both for each hand, and wiggled individual toes.

                Human bodies were so strange. So ill-fitting. Beelzebub was wearing a skin that didn’t fit him. It was much too small, and the human he had possessed was so whiny, keeping up a constant crying in the back of Beelzebub’s mind.

                “Silence!” Beelzebub shouted at him, raging at the pathetic consciousness that kept brushing up against his. The consciousness was fickle, pieces missing, as it flashed and dimmed and flashed and dimmed, like a lightbulb before it inevitably went out.

                Beelzebub was very anxious for it to go out.

                His vessel was unique from most other humans. His vessel was larger, stood above the heads of others. As he walked, people would turn and stare at him in awe, not because of what Beelzebub truly was, but because of how his vessel appeared.

                “Would you stop that?” Crowley said. “It’s a bloody finger, not a party favor.”

                Beelzebub turned his head towards Crowley and frowned. “Watch your tone,” Beelzebub snapped. The lights overhead dimmed, a whining sound following it. The room was barely illuminated. Crowley’s silhouette was hunched over the far bed. His head looked up towards the ceiling, until the lights finally came back on.

                Crowley turned towards Beelzebub. “Best watch your tone, dearie,” Crowley said, voice betraying how he actually felt. It amused Beelzebub, how the crossroad spawn tried to cover up his fear with nonchalance. Though his voice was calm and his body language languid, Beelzebub could see beneath the paper skin of Crowley’s vessel, the smoke of his true form. It trembled beside Beelzebub, terror blipping in black, peppered dots throughout the demon’s true form. “It looks like you don’t know the measure of your own strength.”

                Beelzebub looked back at his hand. It was clean, but he could still remember the squelch of warm, blood covering it. And though he was relatively calm, he could still hear the screams of the bitch as he drank the blood of her offspring, before he moved onto her.

                The blood had coated his fingertips, sticky and wet, and it transcribed easily to the ceiling.

                “Do you think he’ll get my message?” Beelzebub asked. It had taken him a long while to write the message, insisting it was done correctly and that _en aziazor_ would see it and hear his call.

                “Well,” Crowley said. “I don’t know the Winchesters that well, but from what I’ve gathered, you’ve surely got their attention.”

                Beelzebub couldn’t help smiling. It felt strange to smile in a human vessel. It tugged at the corners of his skin, pulled it taut. The skin on his lips cracked, but nonetheless, a wave of euphoria coursed through his veins. He thought of Castiel’s sweet smile, and the bright, blue light of his grace. Beelzebub wasn’t positive how much time had passed while he’d been in the Pit. How long had it been since he got to hold his love? How had Castiel grown during those years?

                Beelzebub closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He looked deep inside himself for the remnants of his grace, battered and blackened by the years spent in the Pit, but still there. His grace swirled underneath his skin. Beelzebub swallowed.

                His grace was too weak to search for its partner---once, he need only to look inside himself to find Castiel’s location, but angels weren’t meant for Hell, and he was still an angel, despite the taint that he carried with him.

                He couldn’t seek Castiel, and Castiel could not seek him, so Beelzebub would have to search the confines of Heaven and Earth for him.

                He knew not where to search. That, he owed the crossroads demon. It had been Crowley who suggested that Castiel would come to the aide of humans he believed to be endangered. Crowley, who suggested staging a hunt that Castiel would follow.

                Crowley had suggested that they “lay low” in something called a “motel” that Beelzebub had come to disdain the moment he broke through the door. It smelled of piss and beer, and he could hear the squeaks of mice stuck between the walls, scratching, scratching, mating, and nibbling—Beelzebub had lost his patience after just a few moments and put his hand to the wall. He could hear the drops of the mice’s bodies as they died. They had soon begun to smell, but he eradicated that at once as well.

                “Do you think they’ve found the scene yet?” Beelzebub asked. He was overcome with a plethora of anxiety. Castiel would have known who the author of the message was as soon as he saw it. Perhaps Castiel thought him dead after all these years, but he would have known the truth once he saw the message, and begun to seek him out.

                He hadn’t yet. Beelzebub hadn’t felt Castiel’s consciousness brush against his, intertwine like they had together.

                Beelzebub looked down at his hand and clenched his fingers against the skin just above the vessel’s heart. Each beat was a beat for Castiel. Each beat was a second that passed that they weren’t reunited.

                “How is he?” Beelzebub asked of the crossroad demon. “What’s become of him?”

                Because it had been such a long time since they were separated. Castiel must have grown so much. When Beelzebub closed his eyes, he saw the image of the Castiel he knew, young and bright-eyed, curious and resourceful. Beelzebub wondered if Castiel had retained those qualities into his adulthood.

                “A bloody pain in the arse,” Crowley muttered, flickering through the channels on the television set. “Ah, Nancy Grace—one of my better projects, don’t you think? Sold her soul quicker than bunnies breed—“

                Beelzebub snapped his fingers and the television set explode, shards of glass projecting towards the far wall, a trail of smoke coiling up towards the ceiling. Crowley’s eyes followed the smoke as they brushed against a disabled smoke-detector. He glanced back towards Beelzebub and swallowed.

                “I don’t care,” Beelzebub said, the lights shining brighter, a high-pitched whine emitting from them, “about your stupid little deals. I want to know about Castiel.”

                Crowley stared at Beelzebub. “I don’t much of him, frankly. The better question is why you’re so focused on him, if your desire is to free Lucifer. Castiel was part of the regime that re-caged him.”

                Beelzebub nodded. He did know that—though he was disconnected from Heaven, there had been whispers in the Pit, of an angel turned rogue, working against Heaven and Hell with _humans._ Though he had no reason to suspect the whispers were of Castiel, it was confirmed for him once he left the Pit and smelt _en aziazor_ on the crossroads demon.

                But that wasn’t Castiel’s fault. He had been indoctrinated by Heaven, and then again by the humans he had come to parade around with. Castiel just needed to be taught. God was dead. Heaven was a farce. Lucifer was the one true King. Beelzebub would teach Castiel properly.

                He just had to find him.

.

.

.

                Sam managed to finagle some new fraudulent credit cards, and so instead of staying in a crummy Motel 6, they pick a Holiday Inn to spend the night in. Not the Ritz by any means, but it was an entirely different world than what Dean was used to. He entered the room, using a magnetic card instead of an actual key, and was met with the scent of detergent instead of mold. He grinned as he flopped down onto the nearest bed, pillows flying and falling off.

                His peace was short-lived, though, because once he closed his eyes, he couldn’t stop seeing the blood that covered the Stewart house. A hard lump formed in his throat when he thought of the children dying, and the mother being forced to watch. The sick bastard that wrote the note on the ceiling in their blood.

                He flinched when a feather-light touch brushed against the nape of his neck, elbow immediately going for the nose, but he stopped just in time.

                It was only Castiel, looking down at him in that sad, Castiel way.

                “Sorry,” Cas said, pulling his hand away. “I didn’t meant to frighten you…you looked…”

                Dean licked his lips and pushed himself into a sitting position, bracing his back against the headboard. “It’s fine,” Dean said. “No harm done, see?” Dean tried to flash Cas one of his easy grins, but Cas continued to look at Dean dubiously.

                “This case just has me a little wigged, okay?” Dean admitted, unable to tear his eyes away from Cas’s. There was always something about Cas—a magnetic pull—that Dean could never escape from. Cas didn’t even have to do anything. He could just stand there and look at Dean like _that_ , and then Dean was compelled to spill his heart and soul, unravel all the insidious thoughts that lurked inside his brain. And right now, nothing could deter his mind from the heinous crime that had occurred just a mile down from where they were settled down.

                “It is unusual,” Cas admitted. Dean snorted.

                “Four kids are dead, and it’s just “unusual””. Dean shook his head. “Great. Fan-fucking-tastic.”

                “Dean,” Sam snapped. Sam had pulled his laptop out and was busy typing on it, but he looked away to shoot an annoyed glare at Dean. “Don’t take it out on him.”

                “I’m not—“ Dean broke off and rubbed his hands over his face. Anger bubbled underneath his skin.

                “It’s all right,” Cas said. “We’ll find the demon responsible.”

                “I just don’t get it!” Dean exploded. Sam flinched at his outburst, but Cas remained unfazed, and then it was like a dam broke inside Dean. Words kept tumbling out, spilling like sand through his fingers, he couldn’t stop. “We locked up their king, sure they’re probably pissed, but what are they doing rampaging around killing innocent people for? I just don’t get it! I mean, yeah, violence for violence, but…Y’know, vamps, werewolves, wendigos, they gotta eat, and it sucks, it really fucking sucks, but at least there’s a reason they kill people beyond “I just can”. And demons don’t just kill people, no, they gotta torture them first, probably make death a mercy at that point—“

                There was a firm, heavy hand on his shoulder.

                Dean gulped for air, and only realized then that his hands were trembling. Cas’s hand was firm, but gentle and it steadied Dean enough for him to breathe.

                Cas didn’t say anything. He just remained there, a solid, steady presence.

                Once Dean had calmed down, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Goddamnit,” he muttered, an anxious shiver running down his spine.

                “I don’t understand it, either,” Castiel said. “But we will figure it out. And we do know this demon’s motivation—he wants to free Lucifer from the Cage once more.”

                Dean barked bitterly.

                “There isn’t a way,” Cas said, still steady and calm, “that I know of but…Heaven hid so many secrets. Regardless, we will find the demon and soil his plan.”

                “Cas is right,” Sam said. “We can’t give up before the fight’s even started. We’ll find and gank the son of a bitch, send the message to the rest of those bastards wherever they are that we’re still in business, a force to be reckoned with.”

                “We don’t even know where to start,” Dean bemoaned.

                Sam motioned to his laptop. “Research,” he said matter of factly. “We know this guy has to be high up on the food chain. And based on the dialect he was writing in, he’s old, too. Like, really old. There has to be mention of him somewhere.”

                Dean snorted again and turned away from Cas and Sam to the wall. “Fine, you nerds research it all out. But I’m beat, and going to bed.”

                Neither Sam nor Cas argued when Dean toed off his shoes and kicked them to the floor. It was very quiet for a palpable minute, and then there was something feather light at the nape of his neck, and darkness consumed him.

\--

                _“You can’t save him,” a sinister, snake-like voice whispered. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood ramrod straight. He couldn’t move. “He’s mine. He’s always belonged to me.”_

_There was an overwhelming stench of sulfur suffocating Dean. He had to breathe in through his mouth. Speaking was a battle, fighting against the words that had clogged his throat. “If you touch him, I’ll kill you.” His bravado was lost, and the threat deflated as soon as the words entered the atmosphere._

_The voice chuckled. Dean couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from—it seemed to be coming from all sides._

_“You can’t kill me without killing him. We’re meant to be together—Father planned it that way.”_

                    _A shiver raced down Dean’s spine. His nerves felt like putty, and he wasn’t quite sure how he was still standing. The voice was a force of nature._

_“You keep your hands off my brother,” Dean said, but he couldn’t bring forth his signature faux confidence. His voice cracked. But Dean clenched his hand into a fist, and felt his rage pounding underneath his skin. Nothing was ever going to get between him and Sam. Nothing. Not even Lucifer could keep them apart—no way in any level of Hell would this voice get between them. He had already lost Sam more than once—and each time, it had almost killed him. Dean wouldn’t survive it again._

_“You hear me?” Dean yelled. “You touch him, I’ll kill you!”_

_The voice chuckled. There was no malice in it, which only worsened Dean’s nerves._

_“I’ll be waiting,” the voice said, and then it vanished._

 

Dean shot up into a sitting position, drenched in cold sweat, gasping for breath. He reached for the gun he always hide underneath his pillow, and clenched his fist around the handle. For some strange reason, it always relaxed him to know he had a weapon available, a means to protect himself.

                It took Dean a moment to process where he was. The hotel room came into view—Sam’s gigantor form sprawled across the opposite bed, the clunking of the crappy A/C machine by the window, and Castiel, sat in the chair in-between the two beds.

Dean stared at Cas, as his heart pounded against his ribcage. Cas’s head was turned towards him, just slightly, but it was such a familiar gesture. Still so strange, his movements still maintained some sort of robotic quality to them.

“What were you dreaming about?” Cas asked. It was a familiar question.

Dean sighed and fell back against the pillows. His hand slowly uncurled from the pistol, and he looked straight at Castiel.

“I don’t know,” Dean said eventually, when Cas kept staring at him patiently. “It wasn’t Hell,” he added in, because Cas knew Dean still dreamed of Hell, and it seemed important to tell Cas that this nightmare wasn’t like any of the others that had plagued him in recent years. “It’s…” but as Dean began to talk, the dream had begun to slip away from him already, major details leaving gaping holes in his memory.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said, turning his face into the pillow. “It was just a stupid dream.”

Emotive was not a word Dean would ever have used to describe Cas. The guy more or less seemed unfazed by anything that came his way.

But he did maintain this sort of somber expression the entire time, an overall sadness that weighed down on his shoulders, and as Dean said those words, he saw the expression deepen on Cas’s face.

“I just need to go back to sleep,” Dean said. “I’ll go to sleep, and won’t even remember having a dream when I wake up. Sounds good? Sounds good. Okay. Night, Cas.”

Dean turned onto his other side, away from Cas, facing the blank, white wall.

There was a gentle touch to the nape of Dean’s neck. A gentle, warm feeling spread through his veins, and a darkness clouded in his eyes. Dean exhaled and sank into the darkness.

.

.

.

 

When Dean woke up, sunlight was filtering into the hotel room, making the dust dance around, and Dean’s stomach twist at the sight. This place was a lot cleaner than most of the digs they hid out in, but it was still _gross._

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam said. He was seated at the small table near the window, working on his laptop. Cas was seated on Sam’s bed, thumbing through a tome Dean recognized from the Impala’s trunk. “Thought you’d never wake up.”

Dean blinked, awareness coming to him slowly. The first thing he noticed was that he felt…pretty great. All the aches he was accustomed to waking up with were nonexistent. His neck wasn’t stiff, his mouth wasn’t dry. Dean looked over at Castiel. Cas remained engrossed in his boring ass tome, but Dean knew.

He could get used to Angel Nyquil. Definitely a better sleep remedy than a handful of Tylenol downed with a swig of whiskey.

“What time is it?” Dean mumbled.

“Ten,” Sam said, not looking up from his laptop.

Dean did a double take on the clock. It was ten am. Dean couldn’t ever remember sleeping in later than 8am, and that was only because he was sleeping off a hangover.

“Wow,” Dean said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Yeah, lazy ass. You were sleeping, and the rest of us actually got up and got to work.”

Dean blew air out of his nose. “Yeah? You find anything on our mystery demon?”

“Actually,” Sam said, looking at Dean, “I think I do.”

Dean blanched for a moment.  Then he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“So, get this,” Sam said, turning his laptop around so Dean and Cas could see it. “This guy is some sort of lackey of Lucifer’s right? The Bible doesn’t really give us the names of the angels that fell with him, just that it was a third of Heaven—“

“A third?” Dean said, looking to Cas. Cas nodded sadly in confirmation, but said nothing. Dean’s mind struggled to wrap around the number. One third of all the angels in Heaven swore allegiance to Lucifer and got thrown down to Hell.

“Yeah, but there aren’t any names. Not in the Bible. There is something in another book, though. By John Milton.”

“Who?”

“He was a prophet,” Cas said, closing his tome and setting it to the side. “All prophets are compelled by God to write His visions. He probably would’ve never gone blind if he hadn’t tried to seek Michael’s true form.”

Dean blinked, unsure of how to respond to that. “Okay,” Dean said. “What book?”

“ _Paradise Lost_ ,” Sam said. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Dean. “It was required reading in high school, remember?”

Dean snorted. “Do I look like a guy that read anything assigned in high school?”

“Anyway,” Sam said. “So, _Paradise Lost_ tells the story of Genesis, from Lucifer and his angels falling, Adam and Eve…Lucifer and his…uh, consorts, let’s say, all have a meeting to decide how they’re going to handle God kicking them out of Heaven and into Hell. And in _Paradise Lost_ , Lucifer has a friend. An advisor.”

“Get with it, Sam, I need a name!”

“Beelzebub,” Sam said, turning his laptop around to show a picture.

But Dean didn’t get to see the picture, because out of nowhere, Cas made a pathetic, whimpering sound—it happened too fast, and in slow motion at once—his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He keeled over, off the bed, and smacked his head against the edge of the nightstand.

Dean stood there in shocked horror as Cas laid on the ground, unmoving, blood pooling from his head.


	3. Part III

                **PART III**

Dean took Cas by his arms, and Sam took his legs, and together (after Dean finished having a momentary freak out) they lifted him off the floor and onto Dean’s bed.

Dean brushed Cas’s hair back to get a look at that gash on his head, but it was already mending together. Cas’s chest fell and rose—it was too similar to Dean sitting vigil after Cas had breached the Earth with Sam in tow.

“What do you think happened?” Dean asked eventually, when he found the words.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know.” Sam put the back of his hand against Cas’s forehead. “He seems like he’s just sleeping.”

Except angels don’t sleep.

“Just wait for him to come to, I guess,” Sam said. “He’ll explain then.”

There was nothing else they could do, Dean knew logically. Still, he was uncomfortable with the idea of just playing bedside nurse again, especially when there wasn’t anything he could do. He wasn’t Florence Nightingale.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed his life.

But, they still had a case to work on, and people’s lives were endangered. “Okay,” Dean said, quietly, “while we wait for Mister Comatose, tell me more about this Beetle Butt guy.”

“Beelzebub,” Sam corrected. Cas shifted in his bed, clenching the bedsheets tightly in a fist. “Uh, so, it’s credited as being another name for Lucifer, but in _Paradise Lost_ , he’s an entire separate being. He was Lucifer’s best buddy—in _Paradise Lost_ , Lucifer contemplates his rebellion with Beelzebub, and when they get kicked out of Heaven—“ Sam paused and swallowed.

“C’mon, Sam, tick-tock.”

“Well, Beelzebub is the one to suggest corrupting Man as revenge against God for casting them out.”

The silence blanketed the hotel room.

“So, this Beelzebub—“

Castiel shifted in the bed again.

“--Was the brains behind anything Lucifer did?”

“It seems that way,” Sam said. “Beelzebub came up with the plan, while Lucifer enacted it.”

A low sound pierced through Cas’s throat.

“Okay, are we sure he’s okay?” Dean asked, scanning over every inch of Cas. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but then again, nothing about Cas _was_ ordinary. How was Dean to know if there was something insidious harming Cas from the inside?

“Maybe he’s just wiped?” Sam suggested. “I think…”  
“What? What do you think, Sam?”

“I think that maybe Hell hurt him worse than he’s willing to admit. He was pretty much human for over a month—what if he still needs to do human things, like eat and sleep?”

“He’d tell me if he did.”

“You sure about that?”

Dean had an answer prepared on the tip of his tongue, but before he could get it out into the world, it died. He swallowed and looked down at Castiel on the bed. He did look like he was just asleep. Nothing at all like a warrior of God.

Dean turned back to Sam. “So, what’s our game plan for finding this guy? We got the ammo to take him out?”

Sam pulled his lower lip between his teeth at the change of subject. “I’ve been tracking for any suspicious activity. Nothing’s hit the radar yet, but he’s probably biding his time.”

It was at that moment that Dean’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the caller ID in confusion before he answered.

“Agent Rudd,” he answered.

“Agent,” Montoya’s voice came through the speaker. It was clipped, and coated in fear that made Dean stand up straight. “I need you and your associates to come down to the station at once. We have some information.”

.

.

.

                It took only about fifteen minutes before Castiel was opening his eyes soundlessly, pushing himself into a sitting position. Dean was by his side, bracing his hand against Cas’s shoulder.

                “Hey, hey,” he said softly. “Take it easy.”

                Cas blinked groggily. “What happened?”

                Sam huffed humorlessly. “We were hoping you could tell us that.”

                Cas squinted and pressed a hand to his head. His teeth were clenched. “What—what were we discussing?”

                “We think we’ve identified the demon,” Sam said. “Cas, the name Beelzebub mean anything to you?”

                Cas’s body went rigid again, his bones seeming to pop through the skin, and he fell backwards, eyes rolling up inside his head once more.

                Dean caught him, and managed to arrange Cas comfortably on the bed.

                “Hey Sam,” Dean said, panting. “I have an idea. Maybe we should stop saying the—y’know, the B word.”

                Sam looked at Dean like he was crazy.

.

.

.

                “We’ve gotta go see what Officer Montoya found out. “

                Cas was resting against the creaky headboard, eyes lazily following Dean as he paced around the room.

                “Dean, I’m fine,” Cas said. The irritation in Cas’s voice only incensed Dean more.

                “You just passed out. Twice. You stay here while Sam and I see the boys in blue and find out more about this demon.”

                “I am not an invalid,” Cas said, pushing himself to his feet.

                “Again, passed out _twice._ ”

                “I am conscious now. I should go with you.”

                “Dean’s right,” Sam said. “You can’t overexert yourself, Cas. It’s fine if you just lay low here for a bit. Dean and I can handle this bit.”

                “I’m going with you.”

                Sam looked at Dean, eyes big and pleading.

                Dean felt stuck in a sinkhole, falling deeper and deeper. He didn’t want to bench Cas—and Cas did look okay for the moment, albeit a little pissed off for suggesting he couldn’t come with them. Dean sighed.

                “Look, he’s right,” Dean said. Sam moaned in exasperation, so Dean continued over him, “He should be there, and anyway, he says he’s fine, he’s fine.”

                “Are you always fine when you say you’re fine?” Sam said.

                “Shut up,” Dean said. “Besides, he doesn’t even have to do any talking.  Just stand there and look pretty. Sam can teach you how that’s done.”

                “I do not approve of this plan,” Sam grumbled.

                “Yeah, well, you’re two-to-one, so the motion passes. Now, get your asses in the car.”

.

.

.

                Dean wasn’t quite sure what he was seeing at first. The security footage Montoya had procured was grainy, and in black and white. The people moving on and off the screen looked more like blobs than any actual person.

                The footage came from Jen Stewart’s workplace, and was timestamped for the date she was last seen alive. Montoya had pointed Stewart out earlier, manning the first checkout station, and overall, everything seemed pretty routine. After a few minutes, Dean was annoyed at having his time wasted, because he could be out on the streets searching for suspicious activity, but Montoya had just shushed him and told him to pay attention.

                When something of value did finally appear, Dean paused the tape.

                “See anything?” Montoya asked.

                Sam brushed his finger lightly against the television screen. “That guy gave her something.”

                Dean rewound the tape a few seconds. A large man, taller than even Sam, came to Stewart’s register. It was hard to see from the grainy footage, but he had a military style buzz cut, and was wearing a dark jacket over jeans.

                They were making pleasantries, but even without the sound, something irked Dean the wrong way about how the conversation was going. The guy leaned over the counter, and Stewart put a hand on his shoulder. She was smiling.

                It happened very quick. The guy handed her a slip of paper. It wasn’t money—it looked like a napkin. Stewart took it and put it into his pocket, and the guy walked off, winking at her before he was out of range of the security camera.

                “What do you think he gave her?” Sam asked.

                “Phone number, maybe?” Montoya said.

                Dean side eyed Cas, but Cas remained quietly scrutinizing the video.

                “Thanks for showing us this,” Dean said, drawing plans inside his head already. The video was poor quality, but it was more than what they started out with. Besides, the guy in the video was taller than Sam—that enough would make him stand out in a crowd.

                “Hey,” Montoya said. “When you catch that guy, I want to know ASAP. I need to be able to deliver some good news to the town.”

                Dean smiled sincerely. “Of course.”

.

.

.

                “Well?” Dean asked as they trio slide into the Impala. He fixed the rearview mirror. Castiel was centered. “See anything?”

                “No,” Castiel said slowly. “True visages do not appear on film. I saw the man just as you saw him.”

                “But it’s gotta be our guy, right?”

                “Possibly,” Cas said. “We have no reason to rule it out. But, Dean—this is a high powered demon, like Alistair or Azazel. He might be even more powerful than they were.”

                Dean ignored the pinch in his throat.

                “You cannot just expect to exorcise him, or kill it with Ruby’s knife. We have to design a contingency plan.”

                “Yeah? Got any ideas?”

                Sam shot Dean a nasty side eye that burned holes in Dean’s neck, but he ignored his brother and remained fixated on Cas. Cas looked as well as Dean had ever seen him, and if he hadn’t been there, wouldn’t have believed the guy had spent most of the morning unconscious.

                “Holy fire is always an option. Especially if our theory is correct and this is one of the original Fallen. He’ll technically be more angel than demon anyway.”

                “Holy fire,” Dean said slowly. “That stuff that can kill you?”

                “Only if it touches me. It’s no different than what you and Sam do every day.”

                Okay, point. But still.

                “I don’t know, man.” Dean looked to Sam for assistance. “If we do this, you gotta hang back.”

                Sam made a hissing sound.

                All the air in the Impala felt like it had been sucked out. Cas’s brows were furrowed tightly together.

                “I will not,” he said, voice dropping low. “I am on this mission with you and Sam, and I will see it through.”

                “Cas,” Dean began, but whatever argument he had prepared died on his tongue when he looked into the mirror at Cas’s eyes.

                Dean sighed and pressed his head against the steering wheel, white knuckling. God, what did he do to deserve being stuck with the most stubborn angel in existence? Cas could be bleeding out and would insist he was fine and would still offer himself to fight.

                “Fine,” Dean said unhappily. When he raised his head to look at Cas again, Cas’s expression had shifted minutely. “You can go. But you hang back and stay away from any fire.”

.

.

.

                “Save it,” Dean spat, as they got out of the Impala. He had sent Cas into the motel to grab their essentials, and then they were going to after this demon-angel thing.

                “Dean, what the hell?” Sam did not save it. His voice, though low, was laced with barely contained rage, his face turning a beet red. “We can’t take him! If this is Beelzebub we’re after—he hears the guy’s name and like…short-circuits or something. It’s not safe!”

                “It’ll be fine,” Dean said, shucking out of his black FBI jacket. “He’s a tough son of a bitch, and besides, you heard him. How is it any different than us going up against guns, or knives, or monsters? Those things can all kill us.”

                “It’s not the same, and you know it,” Sam hissed. “We’re used to having those weaknesses, and working with them. Him?” Sam gestured to the door. “’Til a few months ago, the only thing he thought could hurt him was another angel. Now that’s a load of crock, and if he keels over on us, how are we supposed to protect him?”

                “We protect poor saps every day of our lives,” Dean snapped. Frustration boiled under his skin, and he bit down on his lip, hard, to keep from saying some things he really wanted to say to Sam. Dean didn’t necessarily want Cas out in the field for the exact same reasons Sam listed, but it wasn’t Dean’s choice to bench Cas. If Cas wanted to fight, then Dean wanted to give him the opportunity to fight.

                “We don’t even know where this guy is,” Sam lamented as Cas came back into view, two duffel bags full of a variety of weapons held in one hand, like it was nothing. Dean snorted, and was glad that hotels didn’t do bag checks.

                “We’re looking for someone that’s a bigger Sasquatch than you,” Dean said, as Cas crawled into the backseat, having thrown the bags in the trunk. “And who’s got something not-human in him. And guess what we have up our sleeves, Sam?”

                Dean turned back over the seat and shot a grin at Cas. Cas looked back at Dean wearily, eyes bouncing between Dean and Sam.

                When no one answered, Dean had to do it himself. “We’ve got an angel, who can sniff out demons that may really be angels!”

“Well, I can’t sniff them out, per se,” Castiel began.

Dean raised a hand. “Yeah, yeah, you’re not an actual bloodhound, but you can sense them, can’t you?”

“If we get close enough, I will sense their presence,” Cas said.

“Great,” Sam said, smacking his lips. “So, what? We’re gonna drive around town aimlessly, in this behemoth and totally not inconspicuous car, till Cas’s Spidey Senses kick in?”

“It’s that, or wait for this roach to kill another family, and then we’ll still have to hunt him down. So, Sam, what do you say?”

Sam sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes pinched closed.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dean said, putting the car in drive.

.

.

.

                “Anything?” Dean said, exasperation bleeding in his tone. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion. His arms had begun to feel like lead from driving for so long.

                “No,” Cas said, looking out the window. His eyes bounced off the individuals that walked on the streets. Men and women, parents with their children, young couples with a dog. Normal, boring people.

                Dean groaned.

                “We’ve been all over this town,” Sam moaned. “Twice. Sooner or later, someone’s gonna notice us, and they’re going to call the cops.”

                Dean clicked his tongue. “Ah, we’re fine on that end. Officer Montoya knows who we are and what we’re doing.”

                “Uh, no she doesn’t. Not at all. We lied, Dean. And what happens when the real FBI swoops in?”

                “That’s only happened, like, once,” Dean said. “Seriously, the FBI has better things to do than look into every homicide in the US.”

                God, Dean hated bickering with Sam. It was never ending. Sam was always about “what-ifs” and “logistics” and “statistics”. Dean believed more in what happened in the past, would happen now. The thing about traveling back and forth across the country was that you met the same people over and over again. Sure, faces and names changed, but personalities didn’t. There was always a flirty waitress trying to pay her through college, an old beat-neck cop who should’ve retired years ago, but didn’t, because he didn’t want to be stuck at home with his wife all day, stupid kids would always be stupid kids—and people always kept to their own business, in the midst of a tragedy.

                No one was going to notice them because no one ever noticed them. And Dean liked it that way.

The trio fell into an awkward silence afterwards. Dean didn’t even bother turning the radio on, like he normally would’ve. Dean was starting to contemplate Sam’s suggestion of calling it quits for the night. He sat on that thought for almost five whole minutes, not wanting to give Sam the satisfaction of being right, when Cas broke the silence.

“Stop,” Cas said. Dean slammed on the brakes. The line of cars behind them went ballistic with their horns, but Dean pulled off onto the shoulder and barely put the car in park before Cas was out the door and onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, wait,” Dean said, fumbling with the seat belt. Sam made it out before Dean, and had to shout at Cas to stop.

“Hold your horses, cowboy,” Dean said. Dean glanced around, searching for the man from the video, but he never came into the sight. In fact, the sidewalks were pretty empty of pedestrians. Not that Dean could blame them. It was late, the sun having set almost two hours ago, and it was cold, that even with his jacket, Dean felt goosebumps raise on his skin.

Cas tilted his head, and Dean could almost see the angel trying to process the idiom, but Dean cut him off before Cas could question it.

“Where is he?” Dean said.

“I can feel him,” Cas said, looking back over his shoulder. “It’s like a magnet.”

“Okay, well, before you go all bloodhound on this guy, we need to set up a plan of action. Sam and I will carry the holy oil—you hold the guns and go Annie Oakley as needed.”

Cas was quiet for a moment, before he slowly assented.

In under five minutes, the trio had their weapons ready. Cas led, walking briskly and with purpose. It gave Dean an interesting vantage point—Cas moved more naturally now than he did when Dean first met him. When Dean first met him, Cas had almost a robotic quality to him, each movement slow and stiff.

Cas didn’t move like a robot anymore, but there was still something non-human to his stride. Cas’s posture was ramrod straight, his knees bent no more than they needed to, and his focus remained straight ahead.

They walked about half a mile when Cas stopped outside an abandoned house. The grass was overgrown, and there was a rusted “Foreclosure” sign staked into the ground. The roof was missing shingles, and shutters were hanging off windows by a hinge.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, adjusting his hold on the holy oil jug. It was a lot heavier than it looked. “Why is it always abandoned places? Why can’t demons hide out in a bakery for once?”

“Demons are drawn to the negative energy these sort of places retain,” Cas said. They walked down the driveway, where the concrete was cracked and weeds were shooting through.

The front door had a weathered eviction notice nailed to the door. Without any sort of tact, as usual, Cas pushed open the door, gun ready in his hand.

Sam followed after Cas, and Dean was the last to enter. He turned around and poured a trail of oil on the threshold, then lit it with his Zippo. The flames shot up high and fast, with a _whoosh_ that echoed throughout the house.

The house was empty. Not a single item of furniture was left inside, though cobwebs decorated the corners.

Cas and Sam were down the near hall, waiting in front of a door.

“He’s behind here,” Cas said, hand on the doorknob.

“This is clearly a trap,” Sam said. “Why hasn’t he come out yet?”

“Because he wants us to go to him,” Cas said, and then without preamble, turned the knob. The door opened with a low moan. Cas stepped down the stairs. Dean and Sam shared a look before following after him.

Dean turned around, and poured oil on the threshold again, lighting it. Dean felt the heat of it immediately, causing sweat to pool down his neck. It was probably a bad idea to secure their exits, but they needed to make sure this monster couldn’t just up and escape. Dean just hoped that they would be able to extinguish the fire, in Cas needed to skedaddle.

“How sweet of you to join us,” a voice carried up the stairwell. Dean’s hair stood on the back of his neck.

“Don’t be shy,” the voice crooned. “I want to see the men who bested the King.”

The stairs creaked as the trio made their way down.

They made it down to the bottom of the stairs and stood against the wall, staring at the demon-angel hybrid. It was the man from the security video, but the video didn’t him fair justice. He was taller than the video made him about to be, and so skinny he was almost skeletal.

The demon smiled---and that caught Dean off guard. It was a genuine smile—there was nothing sardonic about it, and his gaze was fixated on Castiel. Dean’s eyes scanned back and forth between the demon and Cas. There was something in Cas’s eyes that Dean couldn’t explain—definitely confusion, but it was more than that.

The demon stepped forward. 

 

Cas raised the gun, holding it straight and steady.

The demon laughed. “Castiel,” he said and Dean hated the demon in that moment, hated the way he said Cas’s name, and the emotions sprinkled over that one word. “It’s been some time.”

Cas’s brows furrowed, head titled.

The demon huffed and then turned towards Sam and Dean. “You are the vessels,” he said. “I have to say, I am impressed, that two beings so plain as yourselves were able to defeat Michael and Lucifer.”

Dean snorted. “What’s your deal? Why did you kill that family?”

“To free Lucifer, of course.”

“Not happening,” Sam snapped. “Lucifer’s been locked up again, this time permanently. There isn’t another get-out-of-jail free card. The rings are gone.”

The demon laughed. It was high pitched, buzzing, and Dean felt like his neurons were on fire as the sound continued.

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Sam Winchester. There’s always another way. Other spells.”

“So that family was just part of a spell?”

“One of many steps, yes. Don’t worry, I only need their blood and bodies. Their souls are free to go to Heaven. Which is a bit of waste, I must admit, but Hell is never short on souls, so.” The demon shrugged. He looked back at Castiel.

“I have been more anxious about meeting you, though. It’s been a long time, _en aziazor.”_

Dean glanced back to Cas. Cas was puzzled, but there was a hint of apprehension under his skin.

“Who are you?” Castiel asked.

The demon’s fake smile fell. He pinched his eyebrows together, curled his lip over his teeth. “You’re joking, aren’t you? You know exactly who I am. You can feel it, surely? Does your grace not hum for me, as mine does for you?”

“Don’t come any closer,” Sam ordered.

The demon scoffed. He flicked his wrist and Sam fell to his knees, groaning.

“Hey!” Dean stepped forward. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” the demon shrugged. “He’s fine. He just needed a reminder of who’s in control here.”

“Your name,” Castiel said, pushing every ounce of angelic authority he possessed into those two words.

The demon’s brows furrowed, and confusion turned into anger. “You really don’t remember. What did they do to you?”

The demon took another step forward, and Castiel pulled the trigger. It hit the demon right in the throat. The demon swore in Enochian. Blood pooled from the giant hole in his throat and dripped into the concrete. The demon touched the wound and stared at the blood that coated its hand, mesmerized. Then he laughed.

“That’s a fancy little toy you got there,” he said. “But, you’re going to need something better than that.”

Sam pushed himself to his knees. He wobbled, and braced onto Castiel to support himself.

“We know who you are,” Sam said through gritted teeth. Dean shot a warning glance to his brother, but Sam wasn’t looking at him. Sam’s eyes were focused on the demon, who still wouldn’t tear his eyes away from Castiel.

“Beelzebub,” Sam spat out.

It happened too fast, and in in slow motion, all at once. Sam spilled the name, Castiel’s posture went stone stiff while Beelzebub’s eyes lightened in amusement.

Then Cas fell to the floor, pulling Sam down with him. Beelzebub’s amusement turned to confusion, and Dean raced so that he was positioned in front of his brother and Cas, protecting them.

Dean slung the jug of holy oil forward, conscientious of making sure none of it went behind him and on Cas, and he dropped his lighter.

A wall of fire separated them from Beelzebub. The fire reflected in Beelzebub’s eyes. Angry, deep lines fissured into his face—Dean could see a vein pulsing in his forehead.

Dean panted, and looked over his shoulder. Sam was kneeling over Cas—Cas was motionless.

“What have you done to him?” Beelzebub yelled. The holy fire shot towards the ceiling, encasing the small basement in heat, like an oven.

No one answered. Beelzebub huffed and faked a grin. “No matter. I’ll see to it that gets fixed. Lucifer should be able to amend that no problem.”

“Not happening,” Dean said. “You want to reunite with Lucifer so bad, you can join him in the Cage.”

Beelzebub hummed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Lucifer will walk the Earth again, and I will sit at his side, alongside Castiel. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

Beelzebub snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

Dean and Sam stared at the empty space where he had been, but there was nothing to suggest he’d ever been there.

Dean’s lungs shuddered. He turned around slowly, the heat of the holy fire licking at his back.

“What the hell was that?” Dean said, unable to tear his eyes away from Cas. Sam had turned him on his back. He looked asleep.

Sam shrugged and shook his head. “Nothing good.”

.

.

.

                Sam put out the holy fires, and then it took both brothers to lug Cas up the stairs and back into the Impala.

                “Okay,” Dean said, panting, when he finally closed the door. “Okay, so apparently, the uh, name uh, you-know-who, is like an automatic off switch. I think we can confirm that now.”

                “Good to know,” Sam said. “Any idea why?”

                “Nope,” Dean said, as he moved to the driver’s seat.

                Dean started the ignition. Sam cleared his throat.

                “Uh, Dean?”

                “What?”

                “You-know-who…seemed a little centered on Cas.”

                Dean swallowed. “I noticed.”

                “And some of the things he said…”

                “I know,” Dean snapped. “Major creep alert, I got it.”

                “When Cas wakes, we gotta find out why.”

                Dean didn’t think he’d be prepared for whatever the answer might be.

.

.

.

                “Okay,” Sam said, once they got Cas settled back into the hotel room. He’d woken up during the drive, incredibly confused, and Sam had told him they’d explain back in the hotel room.

                Cas was sitting on the bed, holding a small cup of water in his hands. Dean wasn’t sure if Cas needed it, or even wanted it, but it just felt right to offer it.

                “So, Cas,” Sam said. “This demon thing we’re hunting? Whenever we saw its name, you faint.”

                “Oh,” Cas said. He took a small sip of the water. “That’s inconvenient.”

                Dean snorted and muttered “Understatement”, but neither Sam nor Cas paid attention to it.

                “Do you have any idea who he was?”

                Cas shook his head. “No,” he said. “I am just as clueless as you are. I know of every angel in Heaven, present and past. I have never seen him before.”

                “He seemed pretty familiar with you.”

                Cas’s eyes strayed to the far corner. “Yes, he did.”

                “What was that thing he called you?” Dean sad. “That thing in Enochian. And what did he mean by your grace longing for his, or whatever?”

                Castiel shrugged. “Angels’ grace naturally is…attracted to one another’s. If he’s been in the Pit for a long time, his grace would be in withdrawal, and would seek out the soonest source it could.”

                “Okay,” Dean said. “But he knew your name.”

                “All angels know my name at this point,” Castiel said with a shrug. It was very matter of fact, but it still pained something in Dean’s chest to hear it. As far as Heaven was concerned, Castiel was just under Lucifer for their Most Hated list.

                “It doesn’t matter,” Cas said. “The Colt didn’t kill him, holy fire couldn’t contain him, and we need to get close to try using the demon blade.”

                “Do we have any other options?” Dean said.

                “You could call an archangel,” Cas said. “There’s nothing to rival their power. But Raphael’s the only one left and he…Well, you were there, Dean. You know how he feels about the Apocalypse.”

                Raphael had also been the one to kill Cas after Cas broke Dean out of the Green Room. Dean could understand Cas’s hesitance at calling on Raphael for help.

                “So, we’re screwed,” Sam said.

                “It seems that way,” Cas said, finishing off the last bit of water.

                “I don’t believe that,” Dean said. “C’mon, guys, we can’t give up. We’ll find a way. We always do!”

                “We’re not giving up,” Sam said. “But we need to come up with a plan of action. And fast. He’s going around killing people! And if he lets Lucifer free again---Lucifer’s gonna be pissed, and we don’t have a hope of defeating him again.”

                “I’ll think of something,” Dean said. “We’ll find a way. Here, I’ll go grab some food, and maybe an idea will come to me then. Sound good?”

                Dean swiped his keys off the small dinner table.

                “Why does everything come back to you and food?”

                “Can’t save the world on an empty stomach, Sammy. I’ll bring you your friggin’ rabbit food, don’t worry.”

                Dean was out the door before either could object.

.

.

.

                Growing up, food wasn’t always assured. Dean did everything in his power to make sure Sam got something to eat every day, but there were weeks when Dad would leave them in a motel, and money would run thin, and so Dean learned to get creative. Mac n Cheese was cheap, but it got boring after having it three days straight, and so Dean had to spice it up to get Sam to eat. It usually worked, but there were days when Dean only had coins left from the cash Dad dropped off, and he made use of the Five Finger discount to snatch candy bars and Pop Tarts.

                Now that he was older, money was more accessible through credit card scams and hustling, so Dean didn’t have to go hungry anymore. Food always provided comfort to Dean, and when he was stressed, or overwhelmed, he’d go get a burger and binge on extra bacon and onions.

                It wasn’t just about getting food for himself, though. Dean still enjoyed providing for his family, and getting food had always been his job.

                Besides, Dean thought better on a full stomach.

                He sat in the parking lot of the diner, chewing on the burger he had just ordered. He got a Chef’s Salad for Sam, and tucked it away in a brown paper bag so he wouldn’t have to look at it.

                Dean’s blood buzzed under his skin. Lucifer may have been the Biggest Bad Ever, but they were never running blind when they tried to beat him. There was a surplus of lore on Lucifer, and every corner they took, they found another book or another document depicting the same events in a different way.

                This Beelzebub though…apparently the only thing that existed on him was a book most people assumed was fictitious to begin with. He wasn’t as powerful as Lucifer, but he was more powerful than Azazel and Alistair, which meant they had no idea what would kill him. Their only surefire way was to get an archangel…and the only archangel left was Raphael, who hated their guts, and would probably team up with Beelzebub before he helped the Winchesters.

                Dean couldn’t stop replaying the confrontation in his mind. There had been something predatory about the way Beelzebub had looked at Cas. Ever since Cas fell, most angels looked him over with disdain, contempt. It was nothing like Beelzebub looked at Cas.

                Dean hated it. It set off a protective flare in his gut. Beelzebub spoke to Cas like they knew one another, but Cas clearly didn’t. And the way ‘Beelzebub’ just activated an off-switch in Cas….

                Dean squeezed his burger into oblivion. Barbeque sauce spilled over his hands. Dean grimaced and cursed as he searched around for napkins. No way did he want to get sauce on Baby.

                Dean checked inside the paper bag, in the foot wells, and finally broke his rule and checked the glove box, and found nothing. The feel of the sauce on his skin was beginning to drive Dean crazy, and he considered just licking it off—it wouldn’t be remotely close to the most unsanitary thing he’d ever done—when a voice said from behind him,

                “Need these?”

                Dean swore, and jumped, slamming his head against the roof of the Impala and he turned around, every cell in his body on fiery panic. He didn’t have quick access to a weapon, there was someone in his car, what was he going to do, what was he going to do?

                He turned and saw Gabriel leaning in the backseat, feet propped up on the headrest of the passenger seat. He had a lollipop stuck in his mouth, and in his hand, a giant wad of napkins.

                Dean was speechless. All he could do was eye Gabriel up and down, as he struggled to catch his breath.

                Gabriel smiled and withdrew his sucker, lips popping around it as it came out. He wiggled his eyebrows. “Miss me?”


	4. Part IV

**PART IV**

 

                The napkins didn’t do enough to clean Dean’s hands. They still felt sticky, and were stained a dark brown color, but Dean couldn’t find it in him to care. He kept staring at Gabriel. Dean tried several times to open his mouth and say something, do something, other than just gawk like an idiot.

                Gabriel smirked and pulled his feet down, leaning forward. “Close your mouth, Dean, you’ll catch flies.”

                Dean swallowed. “Gabriel?”

                “Ta-da!”

                “You’re dead.”

                Gabriel looked and his hands and flexed his fingers individually. “Seems not.”

                “You were dead,” Dean’s voice cracked, bordering on hysteria. “I saw you. There were the wing prints—“

                “I faked my death once before,” Gabriel said. “Wasn’t that hard. Lucy’s got a mean right hook, and ten thousand years’ worth of monologues, but he’s never been the brains of any operation.”

                Suddenly, Dean had the urge to punch the smug bastard. He clenched his fist and threw himself forward, but he couldn’t make contact. He was stopped by the back of the seat, and a grim reminder of breaking his hand that one time he decked Cas right in the jaw.

                “Seriously, Dean, is that any way to greet your help?”

                “Help?”

                “Yeah,” Gabriel said. He rolled his shoulders and leaned back in the seat. Dean hated the idea of Gabriel touching any part of Baby, and decided he would disinfect the entire car two times over. “Heard you were in need of an archangel.”

                “Yeah? Where’d you hear that?”

                “You, mostly.”

                Dean squinted, and looked at Gabriel questioning.

                Gabriel sighed dramatically, an eyeroll thrown in for maximum effort. “Oh, honey, thank Dad you’re pretty. Hey, dumbass! You just put out a wide-range prayer all over angel-radio! Every angel in Heaven and Earth heard you! Only reason you don’t have half of the Host raining down to smite your destiny-breaking ass is that Heaven’s still out of sorts from what you and Twiddle Dee did to it.”

                “They couldn’t find me if they wanted,” Dean said lowly. “Cas warded Sam and me from angels.”

                “Mmm, so he did,” Gabriel said. “Kid did a damn fine job, too. But that only stops angels from finding you—when you pray, you send out your location. Every angel knows you’re in a parking lot in a diner in Las Vegas. Hell, you might as well put a giant neon sign on this boat of a car you’ve got that says “I’m Dean Winchester, Come Kill Me!””

                Dean growled, because no one got to insult Baby, not even arch-jackasses of the Lord, but he couldn’t get a word in edgewise because Gabriel kept on talking, and god, Dean had forgotten was a jabber mouth this douche was.

                “ _Anyway,_ ” Gabriel said, finishing off the last of his sucker with a crunch that made Dean wince. “There’ve been some blips and boops on the Heavenly radar that the quest to jailbreak Lucy is once again in motion, and I figured you guys could use some assistance.”

                Dean snorted and sneered. “And you’re just doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”

                “Did I charge last time?”

                “It sure took a hell of a lot of arm twisting.”

                “Point.” Gabriel procured a Snickers bars out of nowhere and tore the wrapper off, dropping it on the floor. Dean yelled at him, but Gabriel shrugged as he took off a third of the candy bar with one bite. “Still, fact you got me to turn coattails at all says a lot about your public speaking skills. Ever think about running for office, Dean? Not the typical candidate, but you’re charismatic in your own way.”

                “What’s in it for you?”

                Dean had rarely been acquainted with true generosity. During one of Dad’s longer absentee stints, a motel manager had once taken pity on the two boys. The man had been prepared to call the police, and Dean couldn’t blame him. Two kids, aged eleven and seven, left alone for two weeks, with no supervision would draw concern from anyone. Dean had begged and pleaded with the man though, when the manager began to show serious concern and Dean was running low on cash. Every day, the man would ask when their dad was going to come back, and every day, Dean would answer “Tomorrow, I promise, I swear, he’ll be here tomorrow” and that was a cycle that continued for a week until Dad actually did come home, and they paid the bill to leave.

                Dean stood by his Dad at the counter, Sam’s hand held tightly in his, as Dad counted out the total in wrinkled bills. The manager counted out the change, occasionally side eyeing Dean, and then looking back at Dad, but he never said anything, and let them go with a pleasant, “Safe travels” as they loaded back into the Impala.

                Dad was more careful after that, and tried to hide the fact that he even had children when he checked into motels and had to leave the brothers behind for a hunt. But Dean would never forget that first manager. The manager that could have separated Dean’s entire family but didn’t.

                The next time Dean experienced real generosity was the night Sam ran away for Stanford. Dean didn’t remember much of that night—he’d been drinking—and he somehow found himself in a ratty diner at two am, stuck in a booth in the corner, with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose.

                The waitress didn’t ask anything. She came over to Dean with a cup of coffee and a gigantic slice of pecan pie with a large blob of whipped cream and a cherry and put it front of him.

                “On the house, honey,” she said. There was nothing flirtatious in her voice. “You look like you could use it.”

                Dean mustered up a soft thanks as he bite into the pie.

                Those were the rare occurrences where Dean met someone who did the right thing because it was the right thing to do. Otherwise, people always paid favors with favors, or money. A fellow hunter teamed up with you, and in return for watching your hide, you paid them back in silver bullets, or a new machete, or a ten-pound bag of salt. Dean was always prepared to pay someone for the deeds they did. People were always out for themselves.

                Gabriel huffed and actually looked offended. “Why do you assume I want something?” he said, muffled by the candy in his mouth. Pieces flew from his mouth as he spoke and landed on the seat. Spittle landed on Dean’s face, and it took every ounce of self-control Dean had not to have a freak out.

                “I have my reasons.”

                Gabriel swallowed dramatically. “I like the World spinning, how’s that? I mean, if there’s no World, there’s no candy! No women!”

                “No Spanish porn?”

                “Exactly! You humans make the best stuff, no doubt. I mean, if none of this stuff existed, life would suck.”

                 “How chivalrous of you,” Dean said.

                Gabriel shrugged. “I do my best. Now, why are you out here all by yourself? Where’s the giant and my brother?”

                The word “brother” hit Dean like a frying pan in the face. Shit, the thought of how this was going to affect Cas hadn’t even come to him yet. After Gabriel’s (supposed) death at the hotel with all those Pagan gods, Dean had been to one to tell Cas the news.

                Cas hadn’t reacted much, but there’d been a hint of _something_. Cas’s jaw had twitched slightly and he pulled his lip between his teeth. “Oh,” Cas had said. “That…that doesn’t sound like the Gabriel I know.”

                Cas had then poofed off somewhere, claiming to be back on the God Search, but it wasn’t until three days later that they heard from Cas again. Dean always wondered what Cas had done during those three days.

                They hadn’t seemed close. Especially when Gabe sent Dean and Sam into TVLand and he sent Cas who-knows-where. Cas had come back bruised and bloody, and pissed off. He and Gabriel glared at each other, and some snark was exchanged, but Cas never really explained where’d he’d been sent to.

                Dean had literally no clue how Cas would react to this news.

                “They’re at the motel,” Dean said. “Researching.” His tongue felt dry in his mouth.

                “You know who’s trying to hit Lucy’s release button?”

                “Some punk called Beelzebub.”

                All the warm air in the Impala was sucked out. It instantly got at least fifteen degrees colder. Goosebumps raised on Dean’s skin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight. Dean looked at Gabriel. Something heinous swam in his eyes. The remainder of the Snickers bar in Gabriel’s hand melted and dripped onto the floorboards of the car, but Dean was too frightened to say anything about. Ice decorated the windows, erasing all visibility. Gabriel had murder in his eyes.

                “Gabe?” Dean said softly.

                Gabriel licked his lip. He clenched his hands into tight fists. “Did you say Beelzebub?” Gabriel asked so softly, Dean had to strain to hear him.

                “Yes…? Actually, I have some serious questions, ‘cause the dude’s got some high mojo over Cas—“

                “You keep that rotten pit stain cockroach away from my brother!” Gabriel’s voice broke into a high-pitched squeal that rattled inside Dean’s brain. He had to cover his ears with his hands, and he could feel the vibrations of Gabriel’s voice inside his teeth. The car’s engine came to life and then turned right back off.

                “Yeah, that’s something I gotta ask,” Dean said, slowly peeling his hands away from his ears. “What’s his deal—“

                “It doesn’t matter what his deal is,” Gabriel snapped. The squealing was back and Dean pressed his forehead against the leather of the seat. “You don’t let Castiel near him, do you understand!”

                Dean waited there for ten, long seconds, punctuating each one with a ragged, pained breathe.

                When he found the courage once more, he took his hands away from his ears. He looked at his palms. His ears were not bleeding, but they sure felt like they should be. Dean licked inside his mouth. He thought a filling had come loose.

                “Sorry,” Gabriel said, in a normal volume. His voice was gruff and low. “Forget that for all you humans are resilient and impossible to eradicate, you’re still pretty fragile.”

                “What is this guy’s deal with Cas?” Dean asked. “We ran into him, and he was eyeing Cas up like a piece of meat.”

                “Castiel was in the same room as that roach?” Gabriel yelled, but he did not use his true voice, for which Dean was grateful. “How is he? Is he okay? What did that bastard do?”

                “Cas is fine,” Dean said, frowning. He had no idea what to make of Gabriel right now. Gabriel was oozing concern and anxiety, two things Dean had never experienced with the archangel. “Guy didn’t touch him. Except, uh, Sam and I are a little stumped. See, every time Cas hears the name ‘Beelzebub’, he, uh,” Dean motioned a finger going across his throat and stuck his tongue out. “I mean, he doesn’t _die_ , but he keels over—lights out—for a few minutes.”

                The tension Gabriel seemed to be carrying in his shoulders deflated. He sighed and pinched his nose with his fingers. He muttered something in what Dean could only assume to be Enochian. And the he sat back up, ramrod straight, and looked Dean in the eye.

                “Beelzebub and Castiel are both fallen angels, but they’re not in the same league. Beelzebub is much stronger, much older—he’s one of the Original Fallen. And the Original Fallen, their names are cursed. When other angels fall, if they hear a name of the Original, their brain, like, short-circuits.”

                Dean frowned. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

                Gabriel shrugged. “Not much of the rules Dad made do make sense. I mean, guy proclaims that he loves the children the most, and children are the way to the Lord, blah, blah, blah, and then what does he do? Knocks up a sixteen year old kid.”

                “Uh—“

                “Okay,” Gabriel said, putting his hands up, palms facing forward. “Okay, bad choice of words, they didn’t uh, you know…Still kind of “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” except you didn’t meet the person…Worst job of my life, I’ll tell you.

                “Anyway, I don’t know why Dad did what he did. He’s not exactly around to ask, either. Just know, guys like Beelzebub, are….interested in guys like Castiel. Angels who fell after they did. The Original all fell with Lucifer, so they’re curious as to what other angels fall for. There aren’t many who fell after the Original. Anael and Castiel are probably the only angels who’ve fallen in the last thousand years.”

                Dean tried to process everything Gabriel was telling him. “But, why can Cas hear Lucifer’s name just fine then?”

                “Lucifer’s name is the only that isn’t cursed. Probably cause he was an archangel, and probably cause of all the destiny stuff. Kind of hard to have a fair fight, when there are some angels who can’t even hear the enemy’s name.”

                Truthfully, it didn’t make much sense to Dean, but then again, nothing angels said or did made sense. Dean thought back to a day at Bobby’s. Cas had was just starting to recover, and had made it down the stairs for the first time. Dean had set Cas on the sofa and put on an old _Roadrunner_ cartoon, and when he’d come back with lunch, Cas was staring at the TV fondly, chin resting in his hand.

                “I understand,” Cas had said, in that tone Dean was hearing more and more. The tone Cas used when he finally uncovered a “human conundrum.” It was always a wistful, childish tone. “The bird is God. And the coyote is Man, always on the chase, but he’ll never catch Him. It’s hilarious.”

                Dean thought that maybe he needed to define ‘hilarious’ for Cas, but in that moment, he said absolutely nothing, and had only been able to stare at Cas in silent horror.

                Dean didn’t think he’d ever understand Cas’s sense of humor—so who was he to try and understand anything God did?

                “Okay,” Dean said. He finally felt like his nerves were calming down. Of all the archangels to have pop up in his backseat, Gabriel was definitely the best choice. Dean would always have to take Gabriel over Raphael—even if Gabriel was a dick that killed him a hundred times.

                “Sheesh, that was like, three years ago,” Gabriel said. “Get over it already!”

                “Okay, first off,” Dean snapped, and pointed a finger towards Gabriel. “No Jedi mind tricks, got it? That’s cheating.”

                “Helllloo, Trickster,” Gabriel said, exaggerating the movement of his mouth. “I don’t play by the rules.”

                “Well, you’re playing by mine.”

                Gabriel snorted. “Uh, you need me more than I need you. So be careful with what kind of requests you make.”

                Dean’s jaw tensed.

                Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Fine. I won’t read your minds. Happy?”

                “Second,” Dean said, voice going lower and angrier, “answer this now. Can you kill Beelzebub?”

                “Of course I can,” Gabriel said. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, bucko. Beelzebub’s powerful, yeah, but not as powerful as me. Put us in the same room together, he’ll be pissing his pants like a toddler.”

                Dean couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to give Gabriel any sort of satisfaction, but a large grin spread over his face at the thought, and all the anxiety he had pent up during this hunt drained out of him. Dean’s bones went from feeling like steel to jelly and he sighed in relief. He chuckled.

                “Awesome,” Dean said sincerely. “This is awesome! We get to put an end to these stupid Lucifer freaks! Yes!” Dean drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Yeah, we got an archangel on our side, bitches!”

                “So,” Gabriel said, clicking his tongue. “When do we get to see the baby bros?”

.

.

.

                Dean made Gabriel wait outside the hotel door.

                “Trust me,” Dean said. “I don’t want to give them the kind of heart attack you gave me. Let me ease them into it.”

                Gabriel rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man, who doesn’t like surprises?”

                “There is a difference between a surprise birthday party, and ‘Woah, this dead archangel is now not dead’. Trust me, man, you walk in there, they are gonna freak. I won’t leave you out here long.”

                “Fine,” Gabriel said, leaning up against the wall, sounding for all the world like a petulant child.

                Dean shot Gabriel a thumb’s up, then entered the hotel room.

                “Finally,” Sam said. He was seated at the small dinner table, laptop in front of him. Cas was on the bed, several different mythology books open in front of him. “You’ve been gone forever, what happened?”

                “Well, I went to the first diner, and asked for your stupid salad, and they laughed me outta there,” Dean said, tossing the brown, paper bag to Sam. “Had to go to a few different places to find something you wouldn’t ream me out for bringing back.”

                Sam rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha,” he said, unpacking his salad. “But really, what happened? You look spooked.”

                Dean looked at his brother, and at Cas, who now had all his attention directed at Dean. Every bit of that intense, scrutinizing glare focused all on Dean.

                Dean coughed awkwardly.

                “Um, well,” Dean began. He started to nervously swing his arms by his sides. “I kind of ran into someone.”

                “You hit someone with your car?” Cas panicked.

                “No, no, no,” Dean said. “Figure of speech, Cas. I didn’t actually hit someone.”

                Cas relaxed—well, about as much as Cas ever relaxed—but he had that look in his eye Dean had come to associate with Cas thinking, ‘you stupid humans, why do you insist on using colloquiums. why can’t you just say what you mean?’.

                “No, I come with good news, actually. A solution to our Bee—uh, sorry Cas, Beetle Butt problem.”

                Dean didn’t wait for them to say anything. He opened the door behind him. Gabriel stood exactly in the center of the doorframe.

                “Ta da,” Dean said, as the door swung into the wall.

                Sam and Cas stared for a moment.

                “Hello, peons,” Gabriel exclaimed. He strutted into the room, and snapped his fingers. The door closed and locked behind him. He put his hands on his hips and smiled smugly. “I hear you guys have a bit of a demon infestation and are in need of an archangel exterminator! Well, your prayers have been answered! I’m back!”  
                Gabriel’s attention immediately turned to Castiel. Castiel sat there. His jaw was tight. His muscles were taut. Dean could see a vein in Cas’s neck popping out against the skin. His eyes looked like they were vibrating.

                Gabriel grinned his easy grin and walked over to the bed. He sat down right beside Cas and went to throw his arm over Cas’s shoulder. Cas pulled away.

                “Hey, bro,” Gabriel said.

                Castiel stood and turned to face Gabriel.

                “Gabriel?” Sam said, while all this was occurring. There was surprise, and anger, in his tone, as Sam got to his feet. He seemed to get stuck halfway, and just stood there, eyes bouncing back and forth from Cas to Dean.

                “What are you doing here?” Castiel asked, voice low, and in a tone Dean had only ever heard him use with enemies before.

                “I’m here to help.”

                Castiel scoffed. It was an odd sound for him to make, Dean thought. There was so much behind it, he knew.

                “You’re here to help,” Castiel said tonelessly.

                “Wait a minute,” Sam said, finally regaining his ability to move. He walked closer to Gabriel. “Wait a minute, you’re dead! We saw you—“

                Gabriel raised a hand. “Oh, no, we’re not going through this again. Deanarino there can give you the play-by-play, I am not repeating myself. Point is, you need me, now I’m here.”

                “We don’t need you,” Castiel said matter of factly, though there was the barest hint of barely concealed rage swimming underneath the words—a heavenly wrath that could only come from an angel of the Lord, that Dean had come to be familiar with during all the time he’d known Castiel.

                Dean’s stomach plummeted into his intestines. His insides felt like they had been twisted into a ball. He couldn’t believe Castiel had just said that. Sam was thinking the same thing too, Dean could tell, when they shared a look between them.

                Gabriel looked like he smelled something sour. “Uh, last I checked, you do need me. You bozos can’t take on an Original by yourselves!”

                “I’m sure we’ll manage,” Castiel said.

                Dean shot another look at Sam. Sam stepped closer, and put a firm hand on Cas’s shoulder.

                “Cas, wait—“

                Cas pulled his shoulder out of Sam’s grip and stepped closer to his brother.

                “You can’t vanish without a trace, and then return, and expect we’ll take you back no questions asked. You can’t keep ‘dying’,” Castiel added the air quotes, “and then returning, and expect things to return to normal. You keep expecting you can return and take on the role of a leader--”

                “You’re pissed, I get it,” Gabriel said. “But, bro, really. You know you need me. You know you can’t kill this guy on your own.”

                “I thought the same with Lucifer, and Michael, but we managed.”

                Gabriel huffed, and puffed out his chest, in a similar fashion to the way the gorillas in Sam’s stupid nature documentaries did. Castiel was taller than Gabriel, but Gabriel carried himself in a comfortable, self assured way Castiel hadn’t yet found in his vessel, and that confidence made Gabriel tower over Castiel.

                “Listen, bro,” Gabriel said, voice dangerously low. It reminded Dean of the time Castiel threatened to toss Dean back into the Pit like a sack of potatoes.  “I get it,” Gabriel rolled his eyes flirtatiously. “You finally grow some stones and stand up to the Big Boss Man, and you think that you’re suddenly capable of being the Boss yourself. Well, hate to break it to you, kiddo, but that’s not how this works. You don’t have the qualifications.”

                “And you do?” Castiel’s tone was threatening.

                “Well, the way I hear it, you hear this guy’s name, you drop like a rock. Can’t be much help to your precious humans if you’re busy taking a nap.”

                Cas’s jaw clenched tight, but he said nothing. Dean, though, couldn’t help but be a little bit offended.

                “Hey, now,” he said. “Sam and I can hold our own against a demon—“

                “Not against this one,” Gabriel said. He turned away from Castiel to face Dean, and that wide, bright grin was plastered over his face once more. He fell backwards onto the bed, the throw pillows jumping into the air before falling unceremoniously onto the ground. Gabriel put his arms behind his head and crossed his legs.

                “This guy,” Gabriel procured a lollipop from out of nowhere, “is the real deal, the top demon. You guys thought Alistair and Azazel were bad? This guy is more powerful than the two of the combined. Lucifer, for all his dick-baggery, was still an angel. Bee—uh—“

                “Beetle Butt,” Dean supplied.

                Gabriel stared at Dean, then shrugged. “Why not? Lucifer made Lilith, but Beetle Butt is the first real deal demon, out of his own free will. He’s the oldest demon there is, and he’s been in the Pit since Lucifer was locked up and the four keys were thrown away. Cas, kiddo, don’t get me wrong. You’re a kickass fighter, but you’re not quite in tip top shape, and Beetle Butt already has an advantage over you. You want to be pissed at me, fine, go right ahead—but don’t let your pride endanger the Earth you risked everything to save. Beetle Butt wants to free Lucifer—he’s gonna need a lot of blood offerings. You’ve already seen what he’s capable of. You really want to sit here and refuse my help while he’s off torturing more humans?”

                Gabriel had won Cas over a long time ago, Dean had seen it in Cas’s eyes; but Gabriel continued talking anyway, and Dean was too terrified of pissing the archangel off to interrupt.

                Sam, though.

                Well, Sam always thought outside the box.

                “Gabriel, shut up,” Sam said.

                Gabriel’s mouth closed with an audible click, but his brows furrowed, and his eyes darkened.

                “We get it,” Sam said. “You’re super, uber powerful, and we’re a bunch of helpless cockroaches scurrying around with our heads cut off. We don’t need to hear the lecture. We need your help. Can you track him down?”

                Gabriel was silent, except for sucking on his lollipop. Castiel was rigid, nails biting into the meat of his palms. He looked as stern as always, but Dean could tell that Castiel wasn’t as strong as he used to be, despite him trying to cover it up. There were lines on his face, dark circles under his eyes. Dean had spent a month nursing Castiel back from the brink of death, to an uncomfortable humanity, to something that was not quite a man, but no longer an angel.

                The air in the room felt like it had spiked ten degrees in ten seconds. Sweat glued the collar of Dean’s shirt to the nape of his neck.

                Gabriel’s eyes slide over to Cas. A knowing smirk passed on his face.

                Dean didn’t think Castiel could’ve grown more tense, but he did. Dean could see a vein in Cas’s neck pulsing.

                “Gabriel,” Castiel said slowly, like the word itself was disgusting. “Will you help us?”

                Gabriel popped the lollipop and sat up, crossing his legs so that he was sitting Indian style.

                “’Course I will!” He said. “Can’t say no to my baby brother!”

                Castiel looked like he wanted to argue further, but thankfully he stayed quiet.

                “Great,” Sam said. “So. Tracking. Can you?”

                “Not really—don’t look at me like that. I can find him, but I can’t find him out of nothing. I need him to send out a signal.”

                “Like the Bat signal?” Dean said. He was now struggling to control his own rage. He knew logically that they needed Gabriel’s help, but he really wished they didn’t. If there was anything Dean hated more than demons, it was being indebted to self-righteous, arrogant dicks.

                “Pff,” Gabriel said, biting off the last of his lollipop. He bit down onto the candy, the loud crunch making Dean’s teeth ache. “I wish it were that easy. High-powered beings put out a lot of energy when they use their powers. Angels and demons. It’s like following rain to the eye of the storm. It’s a homing signal. We just got to be patient and wait for him to use power. It’ll set off so much energy, every supernatural creature in the tri-state area will feel it.”

                Dean slapped his hands against his thighs. “Really? That’s your answer? Sit on our asses and wait, while what? He goes and tortures, and slaughters another family?”

                Gabriel shrugged. “You got any better ideas? ‘Cause I’d love to hear them.”

                Dean’s jaw clenched shut, so tight his temples began to ache.

                Gabriel nodded. “That’s what I thought. So,” he clapped and rubbed his hands together, “are we finally all on the same page now?”

                Castiel and Sam remained silent. Dean had nothing else to say; despite his annoyance at Gabriel, they needed him, and Dean couldn’t risk pissing off the only hand that was willing to help them.

                “Great!” Gabriel said. “So, while we wait, how ‘bout we load up the pay-per-view in this joint? I can bring the popcorn.”

                Dean debated for a just a second, if the world ending would really be that bad after all.

.

.

.

                It took over an hour and half for Dean to get to talk to Cas alone. He tried to as soon as Gabriel and Sam began to argue about what movie to download (“We are not watching your crappy pornos!” Sam screamed at least three times) but Gabriel was a pain in the ass and kept finding ways to pull either Dean or Castiel into the conversation. Then, when they finally chose a movie, some dumb rom-com Dean didn’t even pay attention to, Dean tried to slip out again, but he was prohibited by Sam (“If I have to suffer, so do you”).

                When the credits for the movie began to play, Dean wasted no time. He tugged on Cas’s coat sleeve and gave him a stern look, nodding in the direction of the door.

                “We’re gonna go get ice,” Dean announced, standing up and wincing at the ache in his back with the motion.

                “I can poof up some ice for ya,” Gabriel said, cracking his knuckles.

                “No thanks, I prefer to do things the old fashioned way,” Dean said, and then he marched out the door, practically dragging Cas behind him by the coat sleeve.

                They ended up in the outside hallway, adjacent to the parking lot. There was a flickering street light a few yards away from them, and the buzz of the cicadas filled the hot, humid air. Dean looked in all directions at first, to ensure there wasn’t anyone that might be listening in. There wasn’t anyone outside beside him and Cas, but Dean kept his voice low just in case.

                “Hey,” Dean said. “Look, you’re not happy. I’m not either, but we need him.”

                “I understand that,” Cas said. “I wish we didn’t, but you needn’t worry. I won’t let my animosity towards Gabriel affect the task at hand.”

                Dean frowned. “What? No, I wasn’t worried about that. I just wanted to explain—he just showed up in the back of the Impala, I swear on my life, I’ve got no clue where he’s been hiding. Me and Sam, we saw him die. Wing marks and everything. I just.” Dean swallowed. His throat had swollen with anxiety. “I just don’t want you thinking we lied to you.”

                Cas smiled slightly. It wasn’t a real smile—Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen Cas show a real, genuine smile, and he made a mental note then and there to fix that immediately, as soon as possible. It was one of those sad, sardonic Castiel smiles.

                “Dean,” Cas said, not a hint of malice in his voice. “Gabriel once had the entire Host of Heaven convinced he was dead. Every angel alive—angels with the ability to search the entire Universe, all the realms, hear and seek individual persons—was convinced that Gabriel had died. It’s not unsurprising that he would be able to deceive you and Sam. No offense.”

                “Yeah, sure,” Dean scoffed. “You know, when someone says ‘no offense’, there’s usually something offensive.”

                Castiel frowned. “But it’s true,” he said. “Your human brain is physically incapable of achieving the same performance of an angel.”

                Dean chuckled. “C’mon,” he said. “I know this isn’t easy on you. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

                This was totally chick-flick territory, but Sam didn’t need to know about this.

                The tenseness returned to Castiel’s posture. “It’s hard to explain,” Castiel said.

                “Try.”

                Castiel waited for several tense seconds, fists clenching tighter and tighter. “How did you feel when Sam left for college?”

                Dean felt like he’d been slapped in the face. “Devastated,” Dean said. “Betrayed. Like I’d been knifed in the gut.”

                “But you knew where Sam was, correct? You could have seen him, if you wanted?”

                “I wasn’t going to ruin whatever Sam had going for him over at his preppy college, with all his douche bag friends—“

                “Dean,” Castiel said calmly. “Could you have gone to see Sam, if you had really wanted to?”

                “Yes.”

                Castiel chewed on his lower lip. “Gabriel is an archangel—one of the first beings God ever created, one of the only angels to ever see God. We had lost Lucifer, and Michael had gone mad with despair after he threw Lucifer into the Cage. Raphael…well, you’ve met him.”

                Dean remembered a douche with amazing, horrifying wings of electricity, and the way even Cas, who wasn’t afraid of anything, seemed unsure of going up against, especially considering Raphael had killed Cas once already. Raphael stood even more rigid than Cas had, and he was so angry, it had radiated in the air and made the temperature rise up and up. He’d been callous. Cruel and capricious.

                “Seemed like bit of a party pooper,” Dean said.

                “You must understand. The Fall, Lucifer’s revolution—it tore Heaven apart at the seams. Everything we knew had been uprooted, and then God left…” Castiel swallowed. “Gabriel was the only thing we had left of our old life. And then he died.”

                The flickering lamp cast shadows across Castiel’s face, accentuating the lines on his face. It made him look even more somber, and created a shroud of mystery. Even though Castiel wasn’t the most emotive being on the planet, his eyes always betrayed the rest of him—Dean could always look into Cas’s eyes and take a guess on what he was feeling, or thinking. With the lamp going out, Dean couldn’t see Cas’s eyes; he could barely see a damn thing, jus the outline of Cas’s body against the wall of the building.

                “We mourned him for forty days,” Cas continued. “And then we went on with our duties, and were forbidden from speaking of Gabriel, just like we were forbidden from speaking of Lucifer. They wanted us to forget him, Dean. When Gabriel died…that was really when Heaven broke. And then to find out, over two thousand years later that Gabriel had faked it…that all this time, he’d been alive, and lavishing himself in the decadence of alcohol and coitus within the company of Pagan gods…” Castiel’s voice grew closer to a growl with each word he spoke, anger threaded into each syllable, the lines of his muscles becoming clearer and more pronounced. His jaw was clenched so tight, Dean wondered how his teeth weren’t cracking.

                “He left us, Dean. He left us, and then expected he’d be welcome back with open arms and no judgement. He could have saved Heaven from the bureaucracy it became under Michael and Raphael and Zachariah. And he did it again! He died again, only for it to be another farce.

                “We can’t trust him, Dean. Gabriel has a habit of disappearing when any sort of responsibility is expected of him, and he comes back when the threat is gone and he can have his fun.”

                “We have to trust him, though,” Dean said.

                “Why?” Cas said. “We can work him without trusting him.”

                “It’ll make things a lot less awkward though, if we do trust him.”

                “You can trust him, then,” Castiel said. “But you’ll have to forgive me if I remain a bit more reluctant.”

                “I’m not saying you guys have to hold hands and sing kumbaya,” Dean said. “It’s a shitty situation all around.” Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s not my favorite person, either. He emotionally tortured Sam for months. But we can’t defeat this Beetle Butt guy by ourselves.”

                Castiel didn’t say anything for many moments. “We should go back inside,” he said, eventually, eyes sliding towards the door. “Gabriel is liable to drive Sam to madness, if left to his own devices.”

                It was a ploy to escape from the conversation, and Dean, against all better judgment, allowed it. He had nothing more to say, either, and knew that nothing he did say would ever make Cas feel better about the situation. They were just going to have to play with the hand they were dealt with, and pray that Gabriel was their ultimate trump card.

.

.

.

                Beelzebub remained silent and hidden for three days. During that time, Dean had weighed the pros and cons of killing Gabriel approximately fifteen times. Gabriel was the epitome of worst roommate ever. He was loud, always eating, candy bars and all sorts of authentic foreign cuisine in his hands. He left the trash over the bedsheets, and reclined back over the pillows as he watched his own pornography in an attempt to scar all of them and give Castiel “pointers.” While that was all horrible on its own, the vice that was really driving Dean towards homicide was that Gabriel. Never. Stopped. Talking. _Ever._

                His mouth ran two miles a minute, his jaw getting more exercise than an Olympian. If they played the television, he narrated every detail to its minutia. If they turned the television off, he complained and moaned, filling the empty air with stories of his sexual escapades that had Castiel turning redder than a tomato, and even Dean feeling dirty just listening. He took long showers that ran up all the hot water, and he _sang_ , while he did it.

                “I thought angels were supposed to be good singers,” Sam said, pressing his hands against his ears, his forehead against the edge of the table.

                “We are,” Castiel said, nails gripping into the flesh of his scalp. “He’s singing off key on purpose.”

                Three days of dealing with Gabriel, and with no word of where Beelzebub might be doing, had nearly driven Dean to the nearest insane asylum. He estimated that he’d only gotten ten hours of sleep in three days. Every time Sam and Dean powered everything down, and crawled under the covers to catch some shut eye, Gabriel turned the television right back on, and ignored everyone’s protests, even Cas’s insistence that humans required more than adequate sleep to properly function. And the few times Dean had managed to successfully fall asleep, it was fitful, plagued with the same, cryptic nightmare that always left him gasping for air when he woke.

                Dean was also growing cabin fever. Dean was naturally nomadic; he didn’t stay in one place for more than a few days at a time, especially not by choice. And while the fate of the world was once again in danger, there were still other dangers that needed to be dealt with. The most powerful demon in existence stalked the Earth, but there were still other monsters lurking around too. Vampires, werewolves, wendigos, wraiths, vengeful spirits—all sorts of monsters threatening the good people of Earth, and every minute Dean spent in this cramped motel room, twiddling his thumbs, was a minute he was neglecting his responsibility and job. So, after three days, Dean and Sam started the search for hunts.

                “You guys are so dull,” Gabriel complained, sucking taco sauce off his fingers. “Sam, seriously, put the research away and have some fun!”

                “People are dying,” Sam snapped. “I don’t see what you find so amusing in that.”

                Dean looked down into his coffee cup, which had slowly become more whiskey than coffee, despite the fact that it wasn’t yet noon. Castiel looked at Dean in concern, but Dean didn’t have the energy to fight with Cas yet.

                “People die every day,” Gabriel said nonchalantly. “You can’t stop that.”

                “We’re trying to stop people dying from the hands of monsters.”

                “Why?” Gabriel said. His nose scrunched up, like he’d just smelled something rotten. “Monsters have been around just as long as humans. It’s just part of Dad’s natural order. Do you get mad a bird for eating a worm? Why, then, do you get mad a vampire for draining a person?”

                “Gabriel, shut up,” Castiel said.

                Gabriel looked at Cas out of the corner of his eye and scoffed.

                “Sorry,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was not sorry at all. “I forgot I was in the company of a sympathizer.”

                Dean’s head shot up at that, but he bit his tongue hard and fast before it could move faster than his brain. He had a slew of insults and rage prepared to unleash on Gabriel, but he had to hold it back, because they needed Gabriel.

                “Hey,” Sam said urgently. “Hey, guys, I think I got us a case.”

                “Oh, thank God,” Dean said, downing the last of his coffee-whiskey. “I need something to do. Lay it on me, Sam, what’re we looking at?”

                “Vampire, it seems, up in Salt Lake. Two campers were found by the lake, according to the ME, completely drained of blood, covered in animal bites. Press is thinking they were attacked by a cougar, but of course, the exsanguination is raising some eyebrows.”

                “Well, let’s get on it,” Dean said.

                “Up, up, up,” Gabriel said. “Don’t get so eager so quickly, Deanarino.”

                Dean stared at Gabriel. Gabriel’s mouth was drawn into a thin line.

                “Sam and Cas can take the case, you and I are gonna stay right here.”

                It was very quiet for two long, tense seconds. And then, it was as though a bomb had gone off.

                “No fucking way,” Dean snapped, and all the rage he had accumulated over the last seventy-two hours poured out of him like a geyser. “You do not get to dictate our comings and goings, and how we do our fucking jobs.”

                Gabriel was unfazed by Dean’s outburst. He crossed his arms over his chest.

                “Hey, if you don’t want my help taking out the newest Big Bad, go right ahead. Walk out that door, and take that case, but don’t expect to find me again when you come back.”

                All the air was sucked out of Dean’s lungs, leaving them like deflated balloons. He looked to Sam and Cas, both appearing apprehensive.

                “Gabriel,” Castiel said. “You’re not serious?”

                “Do I look like I’m not serious?” The usual good humor that was always on Gabriel’s face was nowhere to be found. In that moment, he looked like Uriel, or Michael. Complete sternness etched into the lines of his face, and his eyes were vibrating in anger.

                “Why?” Sam said. “Why can’t Dean go with us?”

                “’Cause maybe I want to have some quality bonding time with Dean,” Gabriel said. He shrugged. “Does it matter? I told you what would happen if Dean went. Now it’s up to you guys. What are you gonna do?”

                Dean looked helplessly to his brother and Castiel.

                “Gabriel, be reasonable—“ Castiel began, but Gabriel flicked his wrist, and Cas’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click.

                “Hey!” Dean yelled, but Gabriel spoke over him.

                “Be reasonable? Are you joking? Being reasonable would be letting the Divine Doctrine take place—letting destiny do its thing, and this pathetic piece of rock go kablamo! Not any of this, free will, fight the power vigilante crap. So, if you morons get to be unreasonable, then so do I.”

                They were screwed. They were so screwed. They needed Gabriel, they couldn’t save the world without him. Under normal circumstances, Dean would never put up with a bully, but he didn’t have a choice here.  Gabriel had them cornered, and he knew it—the stupid smug smile on his face perfectly portraying that of a wolf that got into the chicken coop.

                “So,” Gabriel said. “Sammy, Cassie—you guys better get on that case. You know, before another innocent human dies.”

.

.

.

                Dean watched Sam and Cas pack up the Impala, feeling like he had rocks in his stomach.

                Sam closed the trunk, and sighed, shoulders sagging. He turned around and walked the few steps from the car to the motel door. Cas idled by the passenger door, looking exceptionally out of place.

                “We’ll be back soon as possible,” Sam said, stuffing his hands into his coat pocket.

                “Yeah,” Dean said. “Don’t worry about it, just take as long as you need to solve the case.”

                “Well, we’ll try to put it on express.”

                “I’m gonna kill him,” Dean said. “I really am gonna kill him.”

                Sam patted Dean on the shoulder. “He wants to get a reaction of you. Don’t let him see it. Ignore him.”

                “Have you heard him eat?” Dean moaned, already imaging the terror he was going to endure alone with Gabriel.

                “Remember why we’re doing this,” Sam said.

                Dean sighed. There was no point in dragging this out further. “Go on,” Dean said. “I’ll be okay. You and Cas do what you gotta do. It’ll be good for the guy, getting some real field experience.”

                Sam smiled sadly, and then turned and walked to the car. Cas looked up at Dean. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were wide, and held a message of their own: Keep Safe.

                Dean nodded his acknowledgement, and then Cas got inside the car. The engine roared to life, and Dean flinched. It felt wrong to not be in the car while it was running.

                Sam pulled out of the parking lot, and then gunned it down the access road. Dean watched the car until it was out of sight, and he stood outside for a few minutes longer, staring in the direction the car had gone.

                “Finally,” Gabriel said. “I thought they’d never leave.”

                Dean jumped and shrieked. He had become unaccustomed to the creepy angel teleporting, ever since Cas came back from Hell and hadn’t used his wings.

                “Dude!” Dean said, clutching at his chest. His heart was hammering against his ribcage. “It’s called a door.”

                Gabriel looked at the door, frowning. He had a carton of Chinese takeout in his hand. “I know what it’s called. Look, we don’t have time to argue. We got a case of our own to tackle.”

                “We do?”

                “Yeah, man. Beelzebub, remember? He’s out on the loose again.”

                “Wait, what?” Dean said, looking back towards the road the Impala had disappeared on. “He’s active? Why didn’t you say anything? They just left!”

                “I know,” Gabriel said, slowly, enunciating his words carefully. “I wanted them gone. I’m not bringing my brother into this fight! He can’t hear the guy’s name without keeling over, and no way anyone’s gonna convince him to sit out a fight. The only logical option was to put him in another fight.”

                Dean was speechless.

                “Frankly, I’m surprised it took you guys this long to skedaddle. Anyway! Pack up the big guns, Deano, we’ve got work to do.”

                Gabriel vanished, the sound of flapping echoing in Dean’s head. He could hear rustling from the other side of the motel door, and struggled briefly to dig his keys out of his coat pocket. So many thoughts were racing through his mind, but at the top of the list was the immense desire to wrap his hands around Gabriel’s throat and squeeze---not that it would do harm to the dickbag, but it would at least make Dean feel better, at least for a little bit.

                When Dean pushed the door open, it looked like a tornado had gone through the room. The comforters were thrown off the bed, the drawers on the nightstand were pulled out, chairs were knocked over, and in the center of it all was Gabriel, stuffing items into Dean’s battered duffel with no care.

                “You’re insane,” Dean snapped, fighting against every cell in his body that demanded Gabriel’s face become acquainted with Dean’s fist. It was the only the memory of Dean punching Cas, and nearly breaking his hand in result that stopped Dean. “Beelzebub’s been out there terrorizing people for days, and you didn’t say anything?”

                “I have a duty to protect my brother,” Gabriel snapped. He spun around to face Dean, fury etched into every line in his skin. “I thought you of all people would understand that.”

                Dean did. He understood more than he wanted to, and it was like a punch in his gut for him to empathize with Gabriel on something—they were nothing alike, as different as night and day.

                “You also have a duty to protect the people of Earth,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

                Gabriel snorted. “You might have taken on that oath, but I’ve done no such thing. I only have a duty to protect myself, and Castiel.”

                Dean couldn’t help it. Something inside him snapped. He laughed mirthlessly and rolled his eyes. “Protect Castiel, huh? Well, you’ve done quite a bang-up job of that, haven’t you? Is that what happened when you stuck us in TVLand, and you zapped Cas away? You were protecting him, then? ‘Cause, I sort of remember him coming back bloody and bruised.”

                Gabriel’s jaw tightened.

                “And then there was the whole mocking him about looking for God. You were really looking out for him then, weren’t you? And abandoning him again, by faking your death a second time? Great show of brotherly affection. Buddy, it seems like you and I have different definitions of protect.”

                Gabriel closed the distance between him and Dean. Dean towered over him, but Gabriel arched his neck up, eyes burning with Heavenly intensity, that the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood up straight.

                “You know nothing,” Gabriel growled, “about me, or my intentions. You shouldn’t speak about things you know nothing of, you pathetic mud monkey. It makes you look like a bit of an ass. Now,” Gabriel popped his lips, and snapped his fingers. The duffel bag flew from its spot on the bed and slammed into Dean’s gut. Dean groaned and bent over, vision temporarily whiting out as his organs tried to return to their natural location. “Are you coming with me or not?”

.

.

.

                Gabriel zapped them to the Strip. Dean landed ungracefully, stumbling backwards, and leaning against the exterior wall of one of the buildings. It was only midday, but the sidewalks were packed with tourists and street performers, noise bustling all around them. Gabriel had put them in a small alleyway between two buildings, so no one saw them. The dumpster beside them was open, and the air smelled like rotten fish.

                “Gah,” Dean said, spitting. Angel Air was still a horrific means of transportation. “I’m gonna be hitting the prune juice this week.”

                “I can fix that problem for you, if you want,” Gabriel said, hand coming towards Dean. Dean smacked it away.

                “I’m good, I’m good.” Dean straightened up and inhaled deeply through his mouth. Dean rubbed his face. “I don’t get it. He’s still here? I figured he’d find a new city.”

                “Las Vegas, baby. City of Sin! He probably likes the name.”

                Dean frowned. “Well, where is he?” Dean felt woefully unprepared. Though he had in his duffel vials of holy water, and the demon killing knife from Ruby, they were virtually useless, and would only slow down Beelzebub, not eradicate him. Dean’s only hope was to trust Gabriel, and admitting that was like swallowing rocks.

                “There,” Gabriel said, pointing to the large building across the street.

                Dean groaned. “Seriously? He’s staying at the fucking Wynn? What the hell man!” Dean then looked down at himself. His clothes were rumpled, and smelly. He ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the scratch of a week’s worth of stubble. He looked down at his boots, scuffed with age, discolored from mud.

                “They’re not gonna let me in there, looking like this!” Dean said.

                Gabriel scoffed and cracked his knuckles. “Did you forget that you have me? I’ll Jedi Mind Trick us in, don’t worry about it.”

                Gabriel walked out of the alleyway, towards the large building that still had Dean speechless. The hotel was massive, and seemed to reach towards the sky. The giant pool outside was filled with rich tourists sunbathing and splashing around, the deep blue water reflecting against the sun’s light.

                As they walked past the people, Dean did his best to remain inconspicuous. He stood out like a sore thumb—he lived out of bug-infested motels with questionable health code grades. Sometimes, very rarely, they had the cash to splurge on something a bit nicer, like a Holiday Inn, but those occasions were few and far between. Even with their fraudulent credit cards, it was smarter to lay low, in the types of places that didn’t warrant suspicion. Dean would never even dream of every spending a night in a place like this, and yet, somehow, a demon that had been in the Pit of Hell since almost the dawn of time had managed to sneak in.

                Dean frowned. Something wasn’t right. “He’s got someone helping him, doesn’t he?”

                It was the only thing that made sense. Cas had said angels hadn’t been on Earth since the Crucifixion, and it was apparent in Castiel’s struggle to integrate with humanity. Cas was awkward, and didn’t understand the nuances of conversation, or the basics of modern culture. How did a demon, who’d been locked away in Hell for much longer than Cas had been locked in Heaven, understand? Unless he had help. And demons were master manipulators—they lived amongst humans. They had to know how to act and operate the world to achieve their goals.

                “Probably,” Gabriel said, as they came to the giant entrance doors. Gabriel walked the same way Cas did, spine straight and head high, with no concern to who might be staring. “But I can’t imagine they’re willingly working with him. Lucifer had the charisma going for him, but Beelzebub’s always been a bit more…”

                Gabriel stopped inside the lobby. Dean stood next to him, anxiously awaiting for Gabriel to finish. The longer they stood there silently, the more self-conscious Dean grew—there were all sorts of employees and guests around them, all preened and polished, the highest echelon of the American upper class and would spit on people like Dean given the chance—and Dean did not want them to get kicked out. They needed to find and kill Beelzebub as fast as possible.

                “Well,” Gabriel said finally. “He’s always been more forceful. Lucy could make you think he was in the right, and you’d make the choice to join him. Beelzebub’s always been more of the ‘join me or die’ philosophy of leadership.” Gabriel smacked his lips and turned towards the front desk. “Well, then! Stand back and watch the master work.”

                Gabriel approached the front desk with the sort of confidence Dean usually tackled life with, and Dean was slightly jealous of the archangel. He didn’t have to worry about human trivialities, like getting kicked out of the rich, snooty hotel for being dirty and poor, and not having the ability to Jedi Mind trick the concierge.

                “Hello, there,” Gabriel said, leaning over the desk. He spoke in a smooth, suave voice that Dean rolled his eyes at. “Cheryl,” Gabriel said, reading the nametag on the elderly woman manning the front desk. Gabriel tapped his fingers on top of the desk. “Have you seen anything strange these last few days? A man that might have given you the creeps?”

                Cheryl looked up. There was something strange about her eyes—a gray film covered her irises, and she looked like something out of a zombie movie. “There were two men,” she said. “They came a few days ago. I don’t know what it was about them, but they were frightening. The taller one looked at me as though he wanted to eat me.”

                Gabriel clicked his tongue. “Don’t you worry your pretty little heart about it. My associate and I are going to deal with those men and ensure they don’t do anything of the sort. Tell me, darling, what room are they in?”

                Cheryl frowned and looked to her computer. She scrolled through a list of names for a few seconds. “Room 514,” she said tonelessly. Dean looked off in the corner to a plant, and tried to decipher if it was real or fake, instead of pretending he was okay with the scene going on right beside him. He tried to convince himself that they didn’t have a choice, and that no one was getting hurt; but still, it didn’t feel right to be using angel mojo to force this woman to tell them things.

                “Can I get a key made for that room, hon?”

                Cheryl tapped a few more keys on her computer and then handed Gabriel over a plastic key card. Gabriel took it between his index and middle finger. He winked. “Thanks, hon,” he said, and he blew a kiss before turning back to Dean, holding the key card like a victory trophy.

                “Bada bing,” Gabriel said.

                “Yeah, great,” Dean said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. “Let’s just find this guy and blow him to bits, and then leave before someone catches us.”

                “Geez,” Gabriel said, as they walked towards the elevator. “I thought you were the fun brother. Don’t worry, we’re not gonna get caught. And if we do,” Gabriel snapped his fingers, “I just sprinkle a bit more of the good ole Gabriel charm.”

                The elevator doors closed on them, and they were headed up. Dean pulled out the demon knife while they were moving and gripped it tightly in his hands. He normally didn’t get this nervous before coming face to face with the perp—he didn’t understand why he was so nervous now, but his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He had stood before Satan and Michael, and come out the other side the victor. He had an archangel as an ally. He had no reason to be nervous. Even if said archangel ally was a douche.

                And yet, his skin felt like spiders were crawling over him, and his throat was as dry as a desert.

                “Don’t worry,” Gabriel said, popping his knuckles. “I got this. You hang back and look pretty.”

                The elevator doors opened, and Gabriel strutted out into the hallway. Dean trailed behind, forcing himself to stand taller than he felt. This place looked like something out of a movie. The carpet was thick and plush, a dark red color that smelled like detergent. None of the light fixtures were flickering, or out; the wallpaper was fresh and not covered in mysterious stains. It was not the type of place Dean ever thought he’d enter. His eyes slide over the numbers bolted onto the doors.  510…511…512…Each one they passed felt made Dean feel like he was a felon headed towards the gallows, each number one more step closer to his execution.

                514.

                Gabriel put his hand on the wooden door. “He’s in here,” Gabriel said. “I can feel his power.” His eyes slide over to Dean. “You ready?”

                Dean’s grip tightened on the demon blade. His knuckles ached.

                “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.

                “That’s what I like to hear,” Gabriel said. He took the key card and swiped it quickly, and then his foot was through the door, and Dean and Gabriel charged.

                There were exclamations of surprise, one of them in a voice that was very familiar.

                “Bollocks!”

                Dean looked up, barely registering what he was seeing, “Crowley?” spilling from his lips in surprise before he was hit with the force of a Mac truck and slammed against the wall; his limbs wouldn’t move. He was pinned to the wall like a butterfly.

                “My, my,” Beelzebub said. He was closer now than he had been, when Dean had first met him. He was taller than Dean had remembered, the lines on his face deeper and more malicious looking. “What do we have here?”

                Dean’s lungs shuddered in his chest. His eyes wandered all over the room—they caught glimpse of Gabriel standing just a few feet front of Dean, in between Dean and Beelzebub. Crowley was in the far corner, shaking like a coward.

                _What are you waiting for?_ Dean yelled, but no sound came out. His mouth moved, but nothing Dean did could make sound come out. _What are you waiting for, smite him, kill him!_

                “Hi Beezy,” Gabriel said.

                Beelzebub’s eyes flicked to black and he tilted his head in a similar manner to the way Cas did. “Gabriel. I thought you were dead.”

                “And I thought you weren’t so butt ugly. Guess we were both wrong.”

                Beelzebub chortled. “You’re still not funny.”

                Gabriel motioned to Crowley. “So, what’s the deal with the crossroads bum? I thought you were a lone wolf type of guy.”

                Dean’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull in rage, as he kept screaming in his mind, _What are you doing? Kill him!_

                “Good help is so hard to find these days,” Beelzebub said. “But I will admit he knows some things I do not. What do you want, Gabriel?”

                “I want you to go back to Hell,” Gabriel said. “Forget this whole Raise Lucifer crap. And to break it.”

                Beelzebub blinked and smiled like a snake. “Break what?”

                “You know what.”

                “Why on Earth would I break the most important thing in the world to me?”

                “Like you actually care,” Gabriel spat. “You took advantage—“

                Beelzebub growled and all the warmth in the room was siphoned away—goosebumps rose on Dean’s flesh, and his teeth began to chatter.

                “You just want to keep us apart,” Beelzebub said lowly, and raspy. His consonants were rough and guttural, accent thick. “But that is not going to happen, Gabriel. Not again.”

                Gabriel’s hand clenched into tight fists.

                Beelzebub snorted. “Don’t pretend your motives are so noble, Gabriel. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? This isn’t about freeing Lucifer. This is pure jealously on your part. You can’t stand what I have.”

                “You’re half wrong,” Gabriel said. “I can’t let you free Lucifer. Earth doesn’t belong to him—it belongs to humans. Lucifer had his shot—he missed. There are no do-overs in destiny. And you’re right—I can’t stand what you have. But not because I’m jealous.”

                Gabriel stepped forward, shortening the gap between him and Beelzebub.

                “Hey, now,” Crowley said, stepping away from his corner. “Girls, you’re both beautiful. Let’s all calm down—“

                “Can it, you lowlife,” Gabriel spat. “You the guy that’s been helping this shit stain find his way around in the world?”

                Crowley frowned.

                “Didn’t you help Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb stop the Apocalypse the first time around? Why are you changing flags now?”

                Crowley shrugged and looked to a spot on the floor. “What can I say? Beelzebub makes an argument that cannot be refuted.”

                Gabriel sneered. “You’re a fucking coward,” he said. “Look, let the human, down okay? He can’t hurt you.”

                Beelzebub’s eyes examined Dean head to toe. He smiled sickly sweet; it was almost coy.

                “I suppose not,” Beelzebub said. He snapped his fingers and Dean feel to the ground, landing on his shoulder. He hissed in pain, but he couldn’t focus on that.

                “What are you waiting for!” he screamed as loud as he could, the strain on his vocal chords making his voice crack. “Kill him!”

                Beelzebub’s eyes slide from Dean to Gabriel, and his smile grew wider. He made a ‘tsking’ sound.

                “It’s not that easy, is it, Gabriel? You must not have told him.” Beelzebub’s attention returned to Dean. He stepped closer, and Dean held the demon knife up.

                Beelzebub flicked his wrist and the knife was wrenched from Dean’s grip and thrown across the room.

                “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you,” Beelzebub said. “That gratification belongs to Lucifer. Tell me, human, where is Castiel?”

                “Up your ass,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

                Beelzebub’s face darkened. “You can not tell me. That’s all right. But I will find him eventually. How much you suffer at Lucifer’s hands is dependent on how much you irritate me presently. I’m going to ask again: Where is Castiel?”

                Dean did not avoid Beelzebub’s eyes. “Up your ass,” Dean spat.

                “Fine,” Beelzebub said, standing to his full height that towered over Dean’s frame. “But you will remember this when Lucifer once more walks the Earth, and I  stand by his side. You’re so enamored with the delusion of free choice? Congratulations, ant. You made yours.”

                Beelzebub snapped his fingers, and then he and Crowley were gone, not a sign of them left anywhere. Gabriel stood in front of Dean, shame coloring his cheeks.

                Anger flooded Dean’s veins, and it helped Dean pushed himself to his feet.

                “What the hell was that?” Dean yelled. “You said you could kill him! You said it would be easy! You didn’t even try!”

                “Look, it’s more complicated than you think,” Gabriel said—

                “So you lied?”

                “No! I can kill him, but trust me, you don’t want me to kill him—“

                “Oh, why wouldn’t I want you to kill the guy that’s trying to bring about the end of the world again?”

                “Will you for one minute shut your mouth and listen!” Gabriel roared.

                Dean couldn’t help but shut his mouth.

                “I thought I could scare him back into the Pit,” Gabriel said. “I thought…he’d see me, and freak out, and run away. I _can_ kill him…but…”

                “But what?” Dean said, his patience as thin as paper.

                Gabriel sighed. He wrung his hands together. “He and Castiel are mated. If Beelzebub dies, so does Castiel.”


	5. Part V

                                                                                                       **PART V**

  
                Dean couldn’t help it. It was his instant reaction—he laughed. He bent over his knees, gut twisting in laughter. Dean had heard a lot of bad excuse in his lifetime—hell, he came up with horrible excuses all the time, excuses and explanations that were so far-fetched he couldn’t believe anyone with more than a second grade education believed them. Tears even began to collect in Dean’s eyes from the force of it, and when he finally composed himself enough to stand up straight, Gabriel was looking at him with nothing less than absolute fury.

                “I would appreciate it,” Gabriel said through clenched teeth, “if you didn’t make a joke of this.”

                “You can’t kill him because he and Cas are _mated_ ,” Dean said. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Cas? That doesn’t sound like the Cas I know.”

                The Cas Dean knew was an awkward, bumbling virgin that cried when prostitutes hit on him. 

                “I’ve never even heard of angels of mating,” Dean added.

                Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “So that means it’s not a thing? Buddy, hate to break it to you, but just ‘cause you’ve got an angel in your arsenal doesn’t make you an expert. There’s a lot you still don’t know about us.”

                “Fine,” Dean relented, but he rolled his eyes to petulant. “But trust me, man, Cas isn’t ‘mated’ to anybody.  He’s a virgin. He told me so.”

                Gabriel shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He looked away from Dean’s gaze.

                “Wait,” Dean said, suddenly feeling a lot less confident than he had just moments ago. “Are you saying Cas lied to me?”

                Why would Cas even lie about something as trivial as that?

                “No!” Gabriel said. He seemed fidgety. “I mean, not technically-“

                Dean raised an eyebrow. Gabriel swallowed.

                “It’s not lying if you think you’re telling the truth.”

                Dean surveyed Gabriel. Years of interrogation training taught him many valuable things, including how to detect guilt. “What did you do?” he said inflectionless.

                Gabriel’s face reddened.

                “You might want to sit down for this,” Gabriel said, rubbing the back of his neck. Dean’s anxiety fired off, and he sat on the opposite bed.

                “Just,” Gabriel said. “Just promise me you won’t say anything until I’m finished, okay?”

                “What did you _do?_ ” Dean didn’t even know the story yet, and already he was trembling with rage, and feeling like a rug had been ripped out from under him. What the hell did it mean that Beelzebub and Cas were mated?

                “Zip it, hotshot, I’ll tell ya. Just...just hear me out, okay?”

                Dean never agreed to something without knowing all the conditions, but he didn’t have a choice. He didn’t say anything out loud, but his silence prompted Gabriel to go on.

                “It was a long time ago,” Gabriel began. “Really long ago. Before the Fall. Things between Lucy and Dad were tense, don’t get me wrong, but they hadn’t gotten _bad_ yet. Adam and Eve were in the garden, doing their thing, and Dad had just finished making the newest batch of fledglings. They weren’t old enough yet to start their warrior training. Dad tasked me with watching over them. I…well, I was pissed. I was an archangel, capable of terrifying deeds, and Dad had demoted me down to babysitter, all so he could keep up his shtick of not showing himself to the lesser angels.

                “And, what the hell was I supposed to do with six baby angels anyway, ones who couldn’t even fly yet? This was _way_ before reality TV. I did the only thing that seemed reasonable. I took them to Eden. Haziel, Demetriel, Abadiel, Janiel, Triniel…and Castiel. Eden was still this new, massive beautiful forest. The animals were friendly, the trees were giant, and hell, even Adam and Eve were fun to watch as long as uh.” Gabriel coughed. “You didn’t catch them in the moment, if you know what I mean. Whew, I don’t why some of you guys are such prudes, you should’ve seen the way those guys went at it—Anyway. I showed them around. Introduced them to all the animals. Pointed some of the plants. Cas was the only one who really seemed excited by any of it. Everyone else, it was like I was pulling feathers out or something.

                “I was still pissed though at being ditched and left to watch over a bunch of babies---five of which who were just as mad as me at the situation, and one who, well, to put it plainly—just wouldn’t shut up. Honestly. It was always ‘what’s this’, ‘what’s that’, ‘why is this like that’, ‘I want to see that thing’. It just never stopped!

                “And well, eventually we came to a river bank. Cas got on his knees and crawled towards the water line. And there was this little fish. It took a giant breath, and pushed itself up onto the sand. Cas was just mesmerized by this stupid little fish wriggling around on the sand. He reached out to touch it, and that’s when I put a hand on his shoulder and told him, ‘Don’t step on that fish, Castiel. God has big plans for that fish.’ Kid looked at me like I’d just spouted some wisdom.

                “Then I heard someone call my name. I looked up, and there was…” Gabriel sighed happily, eyes glazing in euphoria. “The most beautiful water nymph I’d ever seen. She beckoned me over. I looked at the kids—Castiel was still staring at the stupid fish, and the others were sitting still and quiet, probably wouldn’t have moved if there’d been an earthquake. I thought they would be fine. So, I went with her. She was gorgeous. Long, blonde hair, a gentle, airy laugh. She laughed at every joke I told her, brushed her fingers through my feathers. She knew all the right places to touch me…And the water world of the nymphs is fantastic! I could live there forever. It sure beats Heaven any day of the year.

                “I don’t know how long I was there. Time moved differently than it does now. But I finished my business with the nice water nymph and went back to collect the kiddos and take them back to Heaven—I figured we’d been gone long enough that it was okay to go back now.”

                Gabriel stopped. He bit down on his lip hard—if he were human, he would’ve split it. He looked down at his cuticles. His eyes shimmered against the bright hotel light—it was an emotion Dean wouldn’t have expected to come from someone as selfish as Gabriel.

                “When I got back….I can’t even explain it to you, Dean. It was….it was a massacre. Blood and feathers were scattered all over the place—ash marks stained on the grass. I remember thinking about how tiny their wings were—they couldn’t even fly yet. You could see on the ash marks where feathers had been ripped out by the roots—“ Gabriel swallowed. His speech came out slower.

                “They were dead. They had been tortured and killed, and they were just _kids._ Then I realized there were only five of them. Castiel was missing.

                “It didn’t long to find him. And when I did….he wasn’t alone. Beelzebub was there. I was too late to….stop what he did. He had Castiel cradled against him, and Cas was crying. Sobbing.

                “I raced towards him, every intent on smiting him down to a pebble then and there—but I couldn’t. I could tell by his smile what he’d done, and what would happen if I killed him.

                ‘Let him go,’ I said, mustering up as much archangel fury as I could. Beelzebub wasn’t even fazed. I couldn’t do anything to him, and he knew it.

                ‘He’s my mate,’ Beelzebub said, cradling Cas closer to him. Cas was screaming—he must have been in so much pain, and so terrified. I can’t imagine. But he was alive. I knew I could save him as long as he was still alive.

                “I didn’t know how I was going to get him away from Beelzebub, though. I couldn’t kill him and he knew it, and if I got close enough to hurt him, he might hurt Cas worse. I stood there uselessly for the longest time. And then I got help from the most unlikely source.

                “Lucifer appeared. He was not happy. He kept flapping his wings, even after he’d landed, shaking the leaves off the trees.

                ‘Beelzebub,’ Lucifer said. His voice was so stern, so emotionless. It was like he wasn’t even alive. And Beelzebub, his face just fell, like someone had told him his dog died or something. ‘We need to talk,’ Lucifer said.

                ‘What about?’ Beelzebub asked, but he never took his eyes off me, and Cas is still screaming this entire time, like someone’s set him on fire. It was a horrible sound. It’s one I never, ever want to hear again. Beelzebub kept petting Cas like he was some sort of pet—it was disgusting. Lucifer looked me over, and there was something sinister in his eyes. He looked at me like he hated me.

                ‘We need to talk in private,’ Lucifer said. ‘Put the fledging down before I make it shut up myself!’

                “I had no clue what to say—I wanted to defend Cas, but I didn’t want to piss Lucifer off. Thankfully—I don’t know what made Beelzebub put Cas down, but he did. He put Cas down on the grass, and stood up, wings spreading and he and Lucifer flew away.

                “I didn’t have time to think about what it was they had to talk about. I rushed to Cas. I tried to pull him into my arms, and he flinched, and he just kept screaming. But I couldn’t leave him there. Not when he was that hurt, that terrified.

                “’It’s okay, kiddo,’ I told him, pulling him into my arms. ‘I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna fix this.’ It still wasn’t obvious to me at the time what exactly had happened. I pulled Castiel into my arms, and took him back to Heaven. It was almost immediate. The Fall, I mean. The dead fledglings were discovered, and Lucifer had gathered the rest of his army to try and overthrow Heaven. The Great Battle happened. I had to fight too—I couldn’t not help. I had to leave Cas alone, but I made sure he was safe. It was a relatively short battle, anyway. Michael kicked Lucifer into the Cage, and all the other angels who had sided with him into Hell. I shouldn’t call them angels. By that point, they were demons.

                “Heaven was never the same after that. No one really knew what to expect next. And me? I didn’t know how to proceed with the present. Cas was still…still not himself. And I was out of ideas. I did the only thing I could do—I took him to someone who could help him. A specialist, Naomi. She looked at him and confirmed what Beelzebub had really done. And…there was only one thing we could do for him. Naomi worked her magic, and Castiel forgot the entire incident. I figured, as long as Beelzebub was in Hell, the bond couldn’t hurt Castiel. Only the memories could. So. I made sure the memories weren’t there. But, I was paranoid. Naomi’s good, but even she can only do so much, so I added a few fail safes, just in case the memories did come back. Cas can’t hear Beelzebub’s name without powering off. And then I left Heaven, and never looked back. Well, until you and your dimwitted brother dragged me back into my family’s politics.”

                Gabriel sighed, shoulders sagging, and he looked Dean in the eye, a slight twitch running up the side of his jaw.

.

.

.

Dean stared at Gabriel. He thought he should be feeling something—but the truth was, he felt nothing. He felt like a robot. He felt like he wasn’t alive.

                It only lasted a second, though. Then it all washed over Dean liked a tsunami and he was angrier in that instance than he could ever recall in his entire life, ever. Even when he and Sam fought, or he and Dad fought, Dean had never been _this_ angry. This enraged, never had wished  that he could kill with a look more in his entire life.

                Gabriel looked ashamed.

                _Good_ , Dean thought. _He should be fucking ashamed._

                “You dick,” Dean bit out, snarling. He felt like he did in Hell, something more animal than human. “You selfish, spineless, deplorable son of a bitch!” Dean stood to his full height and walked to Gabriel, until their chests were almost touching. Gabriel may have been an angel, but Dean still towered over him, like a cougar against a cat; and it was rule one of survival: if something was bigger than you, steer the hell away, because it would kick your ass.

                The fact that Gabriel could kill Dean with a snap of his fingers if he were so inclined didn’t register in that moment.

                “How could you?”

                “You think I wanted that to happen?” Gabriel yelled. The lights in the motel room flickered. “You think I _let_ that happen?”

                “I think you had a job,” Dean said. “And you threw it away to—to—go chase some tail!”

                Gabriel clenched his teeth together.

                “You’re the big brother,” Dean snapped. “That means it’s your job to watch out for your little brothers.” Dean thought of Sam and how Dean sacrificed for him, because that’s what you did. Dean didn’t resent Sam for any of it (not now, at least), and he would do it all over again.

                The one time Dean had resented Sam, the one time he had neglected his duties as a big brother, Sam almost got killed by a shtriga. Dean was lucky that Dad had happened to come home to save Sam; but after that instance, Dean never neglected his duties again. It had been too close a call.

                He thought of a baby Castiel, small, naïve and too trusting—and he couldn’t help but think of Sam again, when Sam was still just a little kid. If someone had done that to _Sam…_ and if had been under _Dean’s_ watch…

                “Fuck you,” Gabriel spat. “You think I don’t regret every decision I made that day? You think I don’t care? Fuck you! I was supposed to watch them—they were just fledglings, they couldn’t defend themselves…I was supposed to take care of them and…” Gabriel’s voice rose and the lights flickered more often, dimming until they were almost off, and then flashing until they were so bright, Dean’s eyes hurt.

                Something shimmered in Gabriel’s eyes.

                “I had five brothers dead and one traumatized beyond recognition. I couldn’t do anything for the five, but I could do something for Castiel.”

                “Yeah, you screwed with his head, good going. Brother of the Year right there,” Dean clapped sarcastically.

                Gabriel inhaled, straightening up his spine. It didn’t add any inches to his height. “Step away, mud monkey.”

                “No, listen to me—“

                Gabriel shoved Dean hard against the chest. Dean toppled over the bed, landing on the other side. He winced and held in a moan. He had for sure sprained his arm, but his ankle was on fire too, and he wondered if he’d broken that.

                “I took the memories that hurt away,” Gabriel said tonelessly. “I was supposed to let Castiel live with had been done? You didn’t see him. He was screaming and no one could touch him—I did what any good brother would do.”

                Dean ground his teeth together. “A _good_ brother wouldn’t have left him in that situation in the first place,” he said to the floor.  

                “Like you have any right to be self-righteous.”

                Dean scoffed. “I never ditched my brother. I never ditched my brother when he was helpless, and clueless. I didn’t leave my brother to be…” Dean’s lungs shuddered in his chest, tongue twisting behind his lips, as he struggled to even say the world. “He was raped on your watch,” Dean’s voice dropped in timber.

                “And your brother’s been kidnapped and killed on yours,” Gabriel sneered. “So I guess we’re both shitty brothers.”

                Dean pushed himself into a sitting position. His wrist throbbed in sync with his heart beat. His ankle was on fire.

                He was still pissed, beyond what words could describe, but there was no point in continuing with this argument. It had happened. There was nothing that could be done to undo it. They had to move forward and live with the consequences.

                Still, Dean did nothing to let the fury wash off his face. Castiel was right. Dean was a fool for ever thinking it was safe to trust Gabriel. He was a liar through and through.

                “Why Cas?” Dean asked. “Why didn’t he just kill Cas like he killed the others?”

                “I don’t know,” Gabriel said, and it pained Dean to hear nothing but honesty in his voice. “I’ve got no clue why he picked Castiel over the others. But he did.”

                Dean’s mind played Gabriel’s dialogue over his head again. “Wait a second,” he said, eyebrows furrowing. “You said, if we kill Beelzebub, then Cas dies too?”

                Gabriel nodded.

                “But, Cas has died. Twice now. Shouldn’t that have killed Beelzebub too?”

                Gabriel shook his head and smacked his lips. “It doesn’t work that way. In an angel mating, there’s a dominant partner and a submissive partner. The dominant partner will live if the submissive one dies. But if the dominant one dies…” Gabriel trailed off. The silence was hot and humid. Dean’s clothes stuck to his skin, and his eyes began to burn. He couldn’t help himself from imagining the scenario Gabriel had described. He’d seen a lot of horrible things in his life. His brother died in his arms. Dean never thought in a million years that anything—anything—could ever come close to the horror of that scene that still struck Dean’s dreams sometimes.

                But just thinking of the scene of Castiel, battered and assaulted, and being too young to defend himself…Dean didn’t need to have been there and a witness to know that scene was going to add itself to Dean’s repertoire  of night terrors.

                “And Cas really doesn’t remember?” Dean asked. His mouth was dry, like a man lost in the desert. Gabriel’s sudden onslaught of concern and fraternal desire made much more sense. He wasn’t just trying to keep Cas safe. He was trying to make up for his actions.

                Dean didn’t know if Gabriel could ever make up for what he did.

                Gabriel shook his head. “I hope not,” he said. “Until now, though, he hasn’t come across anything that would break that wall that keeps those memories away. You swear on your life you won’t tell him.”

                Gabriel stepped forward, towards Dean. Dean looked up at him.

                Dean shook his head. “You can’t be serious,” Dean said. “No way. You might be fine with lying to his face, but I’m not. Hell, he’ll take one look at me and know I’m keeping something from him. And if he doesn’t, Sam definitely will.”

                “You can’t tell him.” Gabriel’s tone was demanding and furious, but Dean was unfazed. Angels, for all they were dicks, still had always been a powerful force that inspired awe, even if it sometimes was fear-borne. Looking at Gabriel now, with the knowledge Dean had. . . Dean didn’t feel terror or awe. He was surprised that he felt pity for Gabriel.

                “You might be fine with keeping secrets from your brother, but that’s not going to fly with me. I’m not gonna continue with your charade. He deserves to know.”

                “It’ll break his heart,” Gabriel pleaded. There was no confidence in Gabriel’s eyes. No sense of self-assurance. He was like a completely different person.

                “Heal me up, already,” Dean said. His ankle was already swollen to twice its normal size, and the fingers in his injured hand were numb.  

                “Not until you swear you won’t tell Cas.”

                “Be like that, then,” Dean said. He scooted closer to the bed and used his good hand to pull himself up by the bedsheets. A swollen ankle and sprained wrist weren’t anywhere near the worst injuries Dean had ever sustained. They were annoying as hell, but he could deal with them. “Cas and Sam will be back before you know it. I’ll have Cas heal me up, and then I’ll tell him.”

                “And how’s that gonna help anything?” Gabriel’s voice rose. The lights flickered.

                Dean was bent over the bedspread. He was planning in his head how he was going to get back to the motel in this sort of condition.

                “He deserves to know,” Dean snapped, “why Beelzebub eyes him up like a slab of meat. Why he can’t even hear the guy’s name. He thinks he’s a virgin, but apparently he’s been mated for a thousand years.”

                Dean swallowed.

                “Beelzebub’s off killing and torturing who knows how many more people, and we can’t kill him,” Dean said.

                “Not unless you’re okay with killing Castiel too.”

                Dean wasn’t. Not after everything Cas had done for them. He saved Sam from an eternity of torture at Lucifer’s hand. Castiel wasn’t just an ally in their plight against Heaven and Hell. He was family. Dean was not going to just give up and throw Cas to throw the wolves.

                Dean shook his head. “There’s gotta be another way.”

                Gabriel groaned. “What is it with you Winchesters and that line? News flash! There’s not!”

                “There’s always another way,” Dean said. “We’ll figure it out with or without your help. Just, uh. Bear in mind. Cas is already prepared for you to take off and hide again as soon as things get tough. So you can either prove him right, or stick around long enough to help us find another solution.” Dean shot Gabriel one of his best shit-eating grins, and it felt good. For once, he had the upper hand against Gabriel. It was always wonderful seeing a bully get their just desserts.

                Gabriel’s jaw tightened. His eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.

                “I hate you,” he said. He grabbed Dean roughly by the shoulder—Dean felt the relief immediately. The throbbing in his ankle ceased and he could feel his fingers. He flexed them individually. Then, he and Gabriel were flying.

.

.

.

                Dean tried not to be too disappointed at returning back to the crappy motel with a leaky faucet after his time in a world class hotel. There were more important things to focus on. Dean obsessively checked the news, searching for any sign of Beelzebub continuing his massacre. He found nothing.

                “Just so you know,” Gabriel said from his spot on the bed. He was back into the pay-per-view binge, and Dean tried not to think about what kind of bill the archangel was racking up. Hopefully Gabriel could Jedi Mind Trick his way out of their tab if necessary. “I’m only staying for Cas. I still say your “find another way” plan is pointless and you’re just wasting your time.”

                Dean rolled his eyes as he flipped to another news page, bombarded with car advertisements and foreign politics that Dean really did not care about.

                “I’m sure Cas will appreciate that when I tell him what happened.”

                Dean already decided he was going to wait until Sam and Cas got back from Salt Lake City. His phone was right by his wrist. It wouldn’t take any time at all to pick it up and dial either Sam or Cas, and divulge the story he just learned. But he couldn’t make himself do it. Sam and Cas needed to focus on the hunt. Dean telling them would just scare them away from the vampire hunt and bring them back here. Dean couldn’t do that—Sam and Cas needed to take care of that hunt and prevent other people from dying.

                And anyway. . . this was news that Dean needed to deliver in person. He also needed a day or two to wrap his mind around the fucked up situation and figure out _how_ he was going to break the news to Cas.

                “I’m telling you, man,” Gabriel’s voice was laced with urgency. “That’s a bad idea. Don’t you think that sometimes people are better off not knowing?”

                “No,” Dean said, with one-hundred percent honesty. So much of Dean’s own life had been kept secret from him. The truth about his parents, about his mother’s death, his father’s desperate, insane thirst for vengeance. Dean wondered how different his life would have been if he knew all he learned in recent years as a child. How would knowing the existence of angels have changed him? If he knew about Azazel’s plan for Sam earlier?

                If someone knew something tantamount about Dean, Dean would want someone to tell him, no matter how horrible the truth.

                Gabriel exhaled anxiously. “Fine,” he said. “That might be all well and good for you, but Castiel—in case you haven’t noticed—is not you. You’re going to uproot everything he knows.”

                Dean swallowed, scrolling through an endless page of pointless news stories. “That’s already happened,” Dean said. “He already knows Heaven is a farce, but that doesn’t matter now. Not really. Heaven’s not his home anymore, and the angels aren’t his family. Sam and I are.”

                Gabriel said nothing. Dean could feel his angry stare burning holes into the side of his head, though. Gabriel might have taken offense to what Dean had said, but it was true. Gabriel had no right to make any sort of familial claim on Castiel, not at this point. Not after leaving.

                It was quiet for a long time after that. Gabriel continued to just sit in the corner, staring off in a corner. He almost seemed comatose—unmoving, silent. He didn’t even need to breathe or blink, and he sat there still as a statue, that Dean could almost have thought him a corpse if he didn’t know better. Gabriel didn’t speak, didn’t pull junk food out of thin air, didn’t turn on the television and set the volume to offensive levels. He didn’t seem to be himself.

                Dean kept to his mission. He continued to browse the Internet fruitlessly, and after about three hours of finding nothing, he gave up to get food. His stomach growled, and Dean scavenged the dusty nightstands for take-out menus, looking for something beside his usual go-to of burgers and fries. He needed something different. He eventually decided on Chinese, and in twenty minutes was meeting the delivery boy at the door. Dean slipped the guy a few crumpled one dollar bills from his pocket as a tip and then shut the door and secured the dead bolt. He would have to reset the salt line.

                “You want something?” Dean offered. “I have an extra spring roll.”

                Gabriel said nothing.

                “Going once. . . going twice. . .”

                Gabriel didn’t move a muscle.

                “Okay,” Dean said, biting into the spring roll as he poured the new salt line down. Dean turned on the television and found a _Doctor Sexy MD_ marathon, and ate while he drowned in mindless melodrama, slurping on noodles and fumbling with chopsticks.

                After spending three days with Gabriel, and the bastard never once shutting his trap, his silence now was unnerving. More uncomfortable than Gabriel’s constant jabber.

                Dean watched three episodes in a row, never saying anything. Every now and then, his eyes would slide over to Gabriel, but it didn’t appear that Gabriel was even paying attention. His eyes were locked onto that corner.

                At about nine o clock, Dean’s phone vibrated.

                Gabriel turned to face him. His eyes looked hollow. Dean swallowed and reached for his phone. It was a text message from Sam.

                _Sam: made it to salt lake ok. chked out morgue. Cas thinks he knows were nest is looking for it now._

Dean’s thumbs moved quickly.

                _Me: be careful._

_Sam: don’t kill gabe we need him_

Dean stared at Sam’s text. His thumbs turned numb and words were lost to him. He wouldn’t just have to tell Cas, Dean realized. He’d have to tell Sam too. They were back to square one—no idea how to kill Beelzebub. Dean refused to kill Beelzebub until they knew a way to save Cas too. Using Gabriel’s powers was not an option.

                The horrible part of it though was that Gabriel hadn’t lied to them. Not technically. He could kill Beelzebub. Dean could have Gabriel use his angel mojo, smite Beelzebub and just count Cas as collateral and move on with life.

                Dean wouldn’t do that to Cas. He couldn’t do that. Not after everything Cas had done for them. Not after everything Cas had lost.

                Dean sighed, exhaling deeply, but he still felt like he had a weight in his lungs.

                His thumbs moved slowly and stiffly.

                _Me: I wont._

‘But Cas might’, he thought. And Cas had every right to kill Gabriel. Dean wouldn’t argue that. He really hoped that the case would take Sam and Cas a few days so he could prepare himself for breaking the news.

                Dean stared down at his phone. The message had been marked as ‘read’ and there was no indicator that Sam was typing, so Dean put the phone down and tried to get back into his television, but it became hard to concentrate.

                He kept looking at Gabriel. His blood boiled underneath his skin. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind refused to steer towards anything different. He was bombarded with the images of Cas, violated and sobbing—images of dead angels, infant wings scorched into the earth of Eden, blood marring the green grass. And Gabriel, standing there amongst the massacre. Gabriel could have prevented it all. If he had just done his job…

                “You think too loud,” Gabriel said.

                Dean flinched. He hadn’t been expecting Gabriel to say anything. It’d been quiet for so long, Gabriel nothing more than a brooding statute for hours. Dean got used to the quiet, despite the discomfort of it.  Dean looked over at Gabriel.

                Dean wasn’t sure why he ever believed angels were emotionless. Gabriel was wrecked. And though he wasn’t crying, he looked just on the edge of a full on breakdown.

                “You’ve never made a mistake?” Gabriel said. There was a dark growl to his voice, something animalistic. Gabriel snorted. “Sorry. I forgot you’re a big destiny man. The fish that Dad had such big plans for. You’re mister perfect, never done a damn thing wrong in your life.”

                Screams echoed in Dean’s head. The smell of sulfur, ash, and blood stung at his nostrils. There was a weight of a knife held tightly in his hands.

                “You’ve never been resentful,” Gabriel continued on, more and more vitriol lacing his voice the longer he went on. “You’re your daddy’s perfect child.”

                Dean was on his feet. “Don’t you dare talk about my dad,” Dean whispered.

                Gabriel stared at Dean with an angry, dissecting glare. “Even now,” Gabriel whispered, “you’re so perfect, you can’t say a damning word against him. Well, I’m not that kind of son. Yes, I left the fledglings under my watch alone. But Dad—he’s omniscient. Knows all, sees all. He could have done something, and he didn’t. Far as I see it, he bears some responsibility too.”

                “Listen,” Dean said, barely holding onto his sanity. He was clinging by a thread—he was so angry, it felt like his bones were vibrating underneath his skin, shifting out of place with every breathe. It was the same sort of anger that drowned him in Hell. “Your dad’s not on my favorite people’s list, but what you’re doing? You’re just trying to pass the blame. You had a responsibility, and you couldn’t do it. You don’t see me blaming all my failures on my dad!”

                Gabriel was seething. “Whatever,” he spat and turned back towards his corner. He crossed his arms over his chest, and Dean swore on his Baby that Gabriel pouted, bottom lip stuck petulantly out. “I guess that’s what I get for assuming a mud monkey might be able to comprehend the matters of God and Order.”

                Dean had nothing to say to Gabriel. They were talking in circles—if Gabriel refused to acknowledge the responsibility he had to Castiel and the other fledglings, and the way he failed tremendously, there wasn’t anything Dean could do to change it.

                Dean wanted to watch another episode of _Doctor Sexy M.D._ It was the season finale, and even though it was an episode Dean had seen already, it was a classic.

                But Dean couldn’t even feign interest. And he couldn’t finish his dinner. The smell began to make him nauseous. Dean chucked the leftovers into the garbage and turned off the television and the lights. He crawled under the covers of the bed, skin itching in anticipation of another nightmare. He wished Sam and Cas were here. He always slept poorly when he was separated from Sam, and now with the reoccurring nightmare he didn’t think he could sleep if he was dosed to his eyeballs with his favorite insomnia remedy.

                But he had to try. He thought back to the lecture Castiel had given Gabriel about humans and REM cycles and circadian rhythms. Dean was trained to function on four hours, but he’d gotten lazy these last few weeks, especially when Cas was sick, and had started the nasty habit of aiming for eight or nine hours. He grew accustomed to needing eight hours quick, and now was pissed off if he didn’t get that much.

                That was a bad habit. His dad would be rolling in his grave if he knew.

                Dean exhaled through his mouth, as deep as he could until his body felt depleted of air. He snuggled his face into the pillow and clamped his eyes shut, fingers digging into the sheets.

                His mind was racing. Dean was bombarded with thousands of images. Old ones coupled with new ones. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he still saw Sam falling to his knees, a knife sticking out from his back. Sometimes, he could still hear the low growling of the hell hound, and smell its rancid breath. Sometimes he could still hear Alistair singing to him, and suffer the phantom pains of the torture he suffered.

                And now, there was all the new information he had. He saw Castiel breaching the Earth and not moving, not breathing, giving no indication of life. He saw Beelzebub slaughtering innocents until he was drenched in their blood. He saw the way Beelzebub looked at Castiel and now Dean knew why.

                Part of Dean wished he didn’t know. He wished he could go back to the beginning of this day (had it really only been one day? It seemed like an eternity) when he knew nothing and Team Free Will was searching high and low for answers, each of them joined in the misery that was Gabriel’s presence.

                Gabriel was behind him. Dean could feel his presence looming over. Dean swallowed.

                “Want some help sleeping?” Gabriel said quietly.

                Dean paused. Castiel often lulled Dean to sleep with his grace. It was the best sleep Dean ever got. It wasn’t the dreamless sleeps Dean experienced when he medicated himself with Tylenol PM and whiskey. He still dreamed. But they were nice, pleasant dreams that didn’t leave Dean waking up in a cold sweat, biting down a scream. At first, pride had prohibited Dean from accepting Cas’s help. At that point, Cas was still a stranger. An enigma. A dick with wings, no different from any of the other assholes Dean found himself up against.

                It only took Dean breaking one time. One night, when the stress of the Apocalypse was too great, and he couldn’t escape the Hell nightmares, and he was drunk out of his mind, Castiel asked again, and Dean accepted the help.

                Castiel didn’t offer every night—and Dean was grateful for that too. He didn’t want to be completely dependent on Castiel. But Castiel always seemed to know when Dean was having a really, really bad night, and when he offered, Dean always accepted. Dean would accept help from Castiel.

                He wasn’t sure about accepting help from Gabriel.

                Gabriel groaned. “C’mon,” he said. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You need to sleep. I bet you’re not going to get any sleep on your own. Cas isn’t here. I’m the next best thing.”

                Dean turned over to face Gabriel.

                “I say alcohol’s a pretty good second, actually,” he muttered.

                Gabriel snorted. “You’d really take a hangover over taking my help?”

                “A hangover’s less painful,” Dean said.

                Gabriel’s brow pinched. “I don’t have to ask, you know. I could just do it.” Gabriel snapped his fingers. “You’d be out like a light, no clue what even hit ya. But I’m being nice and respecting your wishes, or whatever bullshit Cas goes on about.”

                Dean wanted to curse at Gabriel and tell him to stick his help where the sun don’t shine, but he bit his tongue at the last second. He swallowed again.

                “Do it,” he said. He closed his eyes and shivered.

                Gabriel’s hand gripped his shoulder tightly—it was nothing like the soft brush of Castiel’s fingers against Dean’s forehead—and when Gabriel’s grace began to course through Dean’s veins, it was different too. Cas’s grace was like jumping into a cold pool on a hot, humid, summer day. Gabriel’s felt like drinking a cup of hot chocolate on a bitter, windy, winter night.

                Still, his eyelids grew heavy and thoughts became hard to form and keep together, and within seconds, his eyes fell shut.

.

.

.

                It was his favorite dream, fishing off the dock in a lake in Maine. There was a cooler of cold beer sitting next to him. Dean sat there peacefully, enjoying the quiet, even if he wasn’t catching anything.

                Dean looked over his shoulder. He repeated the motion three times until he realized he was searching for Castiel. He tried not to be disappointed each time there was no one behind him. Cas was working the case with Sam. He couldn’t be distracted with keeping Dean company.

                And maybe. . . maybe Cas couldn’t dream walk anymore. There was still so much unsure about the state of Cas’s grace. He could heal small injuries at least—Dean didn’t want to test their luck at life threatening injuries if he didn’t have to—and though he didn’t sleep, he did need to rest somewhat. He would sit in a chair and do some sort of meditation. Dean didn’t have the courage to ask Cas himself. It was still a sore subject.

                Dean turned back and stared at the lure, watching it bob and up down in the water. It could have been a trick of his mind, but he swore for just a second that the water turned red.

.

.

.

                “We’re loading up the car now,” Sam said. Dean rubbed at his face and yawned. He stared down at the coffee in his hand, courtesy of the motel’s ancient coffee maker. The stuff smelt like battery acid. “Should be back by this afternoon.”

                “Good,” Dean said, both horrified and elated. It was too soon and not soon enough.

                “Is Gabriel still alive?”

                Dean looked at the archangel. Gabriel seemed to be in somewhat of a better mood than yesterday. He was watching the Lifetime Channel and chomping on a Snickers bar with less enthusiasm than normal.

                “Don’t worry,” Dean said. “I didn’t kill him. Actually, we’ve even bonded a little.”

                There was a pause.

                “Really?” Sam said. “’Cause I swore you two were an inch away from tearing each other’s throats out when we left. Cas too.”

                Dean’s throat swelled.  

                “How is Cas?” Dean asked. He took a tentative sip of the coffee. It was so hot, he couldn’t even taste it, and he jerked in shock, forcing himself to swallow it down.

                “Fine,” Sam said. “Pretty good, actually, I’d say. He finished the vampire off pretty quick.” There was some shuffling on Sam’s end. “Didn’t even need to use his smiting powers,” Sam said in a whisper. “Did it the good ole fashioned way with a machete.”

                “Didn’t use it,” Dean started cautiously, “or can’t?”

                More shuffling. “Don’t know,” Sam said even quieter. “I don’t have the courage to ask.”

                Dean huffed. “Sam here. But we gotta ask. Gotta know how he’s doing.”

                “Yeah,” Sam sighed. Dean could imagine his brother pinching his nose, face scrunched up like there was a bad smell that refused to dissipate.

                There was an awkward silence. Sam’s heavy breathing over the line soon synced with Dean’s.

                “Anything else?” Dean asked. His eyes flickered up to Gabriel. Gabriel didn’t meet Dean’s eyes. Gabriel was focused entirely on his movie, doing everything in his power not to acknowledge Dean.

                “Uh,” Sam said. “Don’t freak out.”

                “Oh god,” Dean said.

                “It’s not bad. I’m just giving you a warning. We pulled an all-nighter getting the hunt done. Cas is gonna drive and I’m gonna catch some sleep in the car. It’ll be fine, okay? Don’t freak out.”

                Dean had protests ready on his teeth—Cas barely had any driving experience, he hadn’t even been out on the highway before, and Cas wasn’t even comfortable yet—but Dean resisted. It wasn’t just that he was defensive of the car. Most days, he didn’t even like Sam driving and only conceded in extenuating circumstances. He was really worried about Cas’s ability.

                “Dean?”

                “Uh, that’s fine,” Dean forced himself to say. He took another sip of the rancid coffee. It was cooler, but it still tasted like shit. “Just help him out a bit at first, okay? Make sure he doesn’t drive under the speed limit.”

                Sam huffed. “He’ll do just fine. Have a little faith.” More shuffling. Dean could make out Sam asking Cas if they were ready yet. “We’re leaving now. See you later.”

                “Later, bitch,” Dean said.

                “Jerk.”

                The dial tone rang in Dean’s ears.

.

.

.

                Sam and Cas came knocked at the door at about four in the afternoon. Dean let them in, grateful to have someone for company other than Gabriel. Dean opened the door, not quite sure what he was going to say, but when he came face to face with Cas, all words escaped him.

                Dean dealt with traumatized people on a near daily basis. He’d seen the worst of the worst. No matter the circumstances, people always carried trauma in their bones. It reflected in their eyes.

                Cas had none of this. His eyes were the same as ever. Still bright and blue, if a little tired and melancholic.

                If Dean told Cas, he’d put that shattered look in Cas’s eyes.

                “Hello,” Cas said. Dean was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t hear him.

                “Hey,” Dean said, after a too long pause. “Heard you did good,” he said, trying to cover up the awkward pause.

                Cas glanced down at his hands before returning to Dean’s eyes. “It was very bloody.”

                Dean snorted. “Get used to it,” he said, patting Cas’s shoulder. Sam came up behind Cas, duffel bags in his hand.

                “Can’t believe you made Cas do all the dirty work,” Dean said, stepping aside to let them in. Gabriel sat on the bed. He hadn’t moved in hours, just kept staring at the television mutely. He didn’t even turn his head, and Cas wasn’t making any move to acknowledge Gabriel.

                Sam flipped Dean the bird.

                “In fairness,” Cas said, “Sam did interview the families and law enforcement.”

                “’People skills’ still rusty?”

                “Very,” Cas said. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Then he frowned. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

                Dean shivered, despite the desert heat. He hated that bit of Cas—how Cas could read him like an open book. There were no secrets between them. And now that Cas had said something, Sam was staring at Dean quizzically too, eyes burning into Dean’s back.

                “Uh, somethings have come up,” Dean said. His mouth was dry. “We made a break with the case.”

                “You did?” Sam said. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Dean couldn’t face Sam. And he couldn’t look Cas in the eyes. He wanted to hold onto the image he had of Cas’s eyes before he shattered them with trauma.

                Dean inhaled through his teeth. “This…this is something that needed to be done in person. Cas—“

                _Man up, Winchester. Look him in the eyes._

                It took all of Dean’s willpower to raise his head.

                “Cas there’s something you gotta know—“

                “Wait.”

                Dean spun around. It was the first Gabriel had spoken all day. Gabriel moved from his spot on the bed and walked towards them.

                Dean shot Gabriel a confused look. Gabriel met Dean’s eyes, shame coloring his cheeks.

                “You’re right, Dean,” Gabriel said. “This is something I need to do.” There wasn’t one ounce of sarcasm in his voice.

                “Castiel, come with me. There. . .there are some things you need to know. And. . .this needs to be done in private.”

                Gabriel held out his hand. Castiel stared at it like it was a snake. His eyes bounced from the hand to Dean’s gaze. Dean nodded his assent, but he was still confused. Gabriel had been adamant in his refusal. What changed his mind?

                Concern colored Cas’s face and he took Gabriel’s hand cautiously. The two were gone instantly, the sound of flapping filling the room for a few moments.

                It was silent for five seconds.

                “Dean?” Sam asked tentatively. “What’s going on? What happened?”

                Dean inhaled deeply and turned towards Sam.

                “We found something out about Beelzebub,” Dean said. “It’s not pretty.”

                Dean looked to the door. Cas was never going to be the same again. Dean would never see Cas’s eyes unscarred again.

                Dean sighed and covered his eyes.

                “Dean?”

                Dean’s lungs shuddered inside his chest. It hurt to even think about. And now he had to find the strength to say the words out loud.

                “Sit down,” Dean said. “It’s a long story.”

.

.

.

                By the end of the tale, Dean’s throat was raw and his eyes sore. Sam was openly crying. He didn’t make much noise—but his eyes were puffy and red. Tears stains reflected off his cheeks against the crappy lighting.

                “So. . .” Dean trailed off. “That’s what’s happening.” He clapped because he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

                Sam rubbed his jaw. He was quiet for a long time. “So Gabe’s telling him right now?”

                Dean nodded.

                Sam looked to the door. “Oh my god. I just. . .I can’t believe something like that happened. And Gabriel…”

                “Turns out he’s a bigger douche than we thought. Didn’t think that was even possible.”

                “I just. . .” Sam sniffed. “What do we do now?”

                Dean shrugged. “We’re not killing Beelzebub until we know Cas isn’t gonna be damage collateral.”

                Sam nodded. “But, he’s still out there killing people. And Crowley’s helping him unlock Lucifer. We can’t let him do nothing.”

                “Maybe we can trap him,” Dean said. “There has to be something we can do without killing him. I’m not killing Cas. After everything Cas has done for us, we can’t do that to him Sam.”

                “Even if the rest of the world has to burn?”

                Dean swallowed. “It won’t come to that. We’ll figure something out.”

                “Like what?”

                “I don’t know!” Dean screamed. “I don’t know! But we are not killing Cas. We can’t even consider it---you can’t consider it! He saved you from the Cage.”

                “I know that,” Sam said, voice breaking. “I owe Cas my life and soul. He’s a brother to me. It’d be like killing you.”

                Dean’s heart twinged. He had no idea Sam felt that way.

                “But. . .as much as I love him, I can’t let the world suffer. I can’t let it be destroyed when there’s something I could do.”

                “You’d kill me to save to world?”

                “If I had to,” Sam said slowly. “Yeah.”

                Dean had no clue what to say to that. He stood up, stomach twisting into knots.

                “C’mon, Dean,” Sam said. “You can’t be upset about that. It’s the right thing to do. You let me jump into the Cage to save the world.”

                Dean sighed, shoulders sagging. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Sam. His heart ached—logically he knew Sam was right, but emotionally. . .he didn’t want to think about it. He curled onto the bed, facing away from Sam.

                “Dean. . .”

                “Just. Just don’t,” Dean said. He and Sam could deal with this later. Maybe. Or maybe they’d sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened and go on with their lives as normal, despite the fact that their lives were as far away from normal as Pluto was from the sun.

                A billow of air filled the room. Dean didn’t have the energy to sit up. Gabriel stood in the middle of the room. It took a second for Dean to register that Cas wasn’t with him.

                Dean’s muscles tensed. Gabriel was wrecked.

                “Where’s Cas?” Dean’s voiced as strained.

                Gabriel’s tear-stained eyes met Dean’s. “Gone,” Gabriel whispered. “I’m sorry, Dean. He’s gone.”

 

 


	6. Part VI

**PART VI**

                “What do you mean ‘gone’?” Dean’s voice bordered on hysteria. He forced himself into a sitting position.

                Gabriel sneered. “I know you’re a high school flunkie, but don’t act so stupid. He is gone. As in, he is not here! He ran off!”

                “Well,” Dean sputtered. “How? Did he fly away?” Cas was still terrified to try using his wings.

                “No,” Gabriel said, staring off to a spot on the carpet. “He walked off.”

                “And you let him?”

                “What was I supposed to do? I just. . . I just ruined everything he thought he knew. And anyway, he’s warded himself against angels. I can’t find him.”

                Dean stared at Gabriel flabbergasted. God, suddenly the angel warding they gave Cas seemed like such a horrible idea. It had been during his recovery period—they couldn’t be too careful about that sort of stuff. Dean and Sam had the rib engravings, Cas had nothing. And since the angels probably weren’t too happy with Cas going turn coat on them. . .Dean hadn’t thought twice about it. It was a no-brainer.

                “I’m calling him,” Sam said digging out his phone. Gabriel huffed.

                “Yeah, I doubt he’s going to answer.”

                Sam shot Gabriel a dirty look and moved closer to the window.

                “Where’d you even take him?” Dean said. Panic gripped his lungs. Cas was out there, alone, de-powered, life as he knew it having been ripped out from underneath him.

                “Just to the next town over,” Gabriel muttered.

                “Okay, so he’s not far,” Dean said. “Sam, where are my keys?”

                Sam looked at his phone like he wished to burn it with his eyes.

                “Anything?”

                Sam shook his head. “Straight to voicemail.”

                “Told you,” Gabriel said petulantly.

                “You shut up,” Dean said. “Sam, keys, now.”

                “Don’t bother!” Gabriel said bitterly. “At least. Not yet. Just. Just give him some time, all right? Cas. . .Cas needs his alone time, in case you haven’t noticed. He’ll come back. But not if you chase him. You gotta let him come to you.”

                “Oh, that’s easy for you to say,” Dean spat. “You’re the one he hates.” Being angry was too much energy all of a sudden. Dean didn’t want to be angry. His shoulders deflated. Dean couldn’t look Gabriel in the eye as he asked the question, “How’d he take it?”

                “How would you take it?”

                Dean swallowed. He looked back at Sam. Sam gave him a sympathetic nod.

                “He didn’t believe me,” Gabriel said. “Not at first. He told me he couldn’t believe I’d ever say anything so horrible to him.” Gabriel licked his lips. “Then I guess he realized I had nothing to gain from lying to him like that and. . .he ran.”

                “And you didn’t follow?”

                Gabriel shook his head. “I’m not as self-sacrificing as you guys. I’m the guy he hates more than anyone else right now. I’m not chasing after that! Look,” Gabriel’s voice softened. “Cas. Cas loves you guys, okay? Anyone with eyes can see that. He’s pissed at me, not you guys. Give him his space and he’ll come back. Is that too much to ask?”

                Dean rubbed at his jaw. “Yeah, it is. It’s not safe for him out there.”

                “Cas can handle himself.”

                “Dean’s right,” Sam interrupted. “Cas needs to be with family right now.”

                Gabriel snorted. “I can’t believe you guys. The hypocrisy! _I’m_ his family!” Gabriel pointed to the ceiling. “ _Heaven_ is his family. Ten thousand years of chumming it up with the popular kids and in the span of less than a year—a blink of an eye to an angel—he ditches to eat lunch with the band geeks. Once you make that change, you can’t ever go back. Yeah, he needs to be with his family—but he can’t ever go back to his family.”

                Dean shook his head. “That’s not how that works,” he said with vehemence. “Family isn’t bound by blood, or grace, or whatever the hell it is you dicks have. I don’t know how the hell you guys can even dare call each other family. Family doesn’t—“ Dean’s lips curled over his teeth. “Sam, what was it Cas called it? ‘Re-education’?”

                Gabriel’s face paled. He was seething mad, Dean could tell, and Dean was _glad._ He wanted to strike a nerve. He wanted Gabriel to be pissed.

                “Oh,” Sam said, popping his lips. “Oh, yeah—that time Cas was forcibly removed from his vessel, and, and, he never talked about why, or what happened? Yeah, just called it ‘re-education’. And he believed he deserved it.”

                “Fuck you,” Gabriel said like vitriol was infused with the words. “Fuck you both! You think you’re some hotshots just ‘cause you put Michael and Lucifer in the ground? Ha! You think you have the right to talk smack about my family? If we’re throwing stones how about—“

                “You say a fucking word about my dad, I’m gonna rip your feathers out and shove them so far up your ass, you’ll cough them up,” Dean growled.

                Gabriel clenched his teeth. “I don’t know why I’m bothering. You couldn’t even begin to understand. You guys are incapable of understanding. My point still stands—you took Cas away from everything he ever knew. You took him away from Heaven and God and act like this—“ Gabriel motioned across the motel room. The crappy motel room that smelt like old laundry, with water stains on the ceiling, and dead bugs in the lights. “Is comparable. Pfft.”

                Dean didn’t want to admit it, but Gabriel did have a point. But Gabriel wasn’t entirely correct. Dean did think about what Cas had lost. He thought about it all the time, almost every time he looked at Cas. Dean knew he had nothing to offer Cas that could ever be comparable to Heaven. But,

                “At least he knows what real love is,” Dean whispered. Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. “You might be okay with letting Cas run off on his own while he’s reliving childhood trauma, but we’re not. Sam and I are going after him, with or without you.”

                Sam pulled the car keys from his jacket pocket. They jingled in his hands. Sam and Dean headed towards the door.

                “Wait,” Gabriel said. Dean paused with his hand on the door. He didn’t turn to face Gabriel. Gabriel made a hissing sound. “Don’t. . .tell him not to scratch at the wall. He’ll know what it means.”

                Dean frowned at Sam. Sam just shrugged his shoulders. Okay, then. Dean would do that.

.

.

.

                The sun began to dip underneath the horizon and they still hadn’t heard anything from Cas.

                “Do you think he’s okay?” Sam asked, after they had been searching for over two hours.

                Dean white-knuckled the steering wheel. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where he would go.” Somewhere quiet, somewhere he could be alone. If they were back in South Dakota, Cas would go out into Bobby’s scrapyard and find a car to hide in.

                Right now, they were literally in the middle of the freaking desert. Nothing but sand and cacti and tumbleweeds for miles. Cas could be anywhere.

                “Try calling him again,” Dean said. It was the only thing they could do. Sam sighed but he pulled out his phone anyway and pressed the speed dial for Cas’s number. Sam switched it to speaker. The dial tone picked up and it rang.

                Dean immediately turned to look at it—Cas’s phone hadn’t been ringing, it’d been going straight to voice mail, so—

                “Sam,” Cas’s voice came on.

                Dean let out a sigh of relief, his grip loosening on the steering wheel. “Thank fuck,” he whispered.

                “Cas,” Sam said urgently. “Cas, where are you man? Dean and I are worried out of our minds.”

                “I’m sorry,” Cas said, even though he didn’t sound very sorry. Whatever. Dean would take it. Actually, Cas sounded like he was suffering from a bad sinus infection—more so than he usually did. “I needed..”

                “It’s fine,” Dean said. His eyes kept trailing from the road to the phone.

                “Dean?”

                “Look, I get it,” Dean said. “You needed to be by yourself for a little. Maybe you still do. But can you be by yourself at least in the car with us?”

                Cas was quiet. His breathing came over the line in steady beats. “I take it you know, then.”

                Dean looked at Sam. They had a fight with just their eyes in a few seconds. Sam, always the saint, pleaded for the case of ‘don’t upset him further’, but Dean couldn’t lie to Cas, not about this.

                “Yeah,” Dean said, hating the way he sounded. “I’m sorry, man.” And that was even worse. What the hell did ‘sorry’ do to make Cas feel any better? How did it take away any of his hurt? “Gabriel told me while you and Sam were working that case in Salt Lake.”

                “I see,” Cas said. His voice was unnaturally even. Dean had learned it was Cas’s way of trying not to breakdown. Cas pretended he was exactly like how the dickbags Uriel, Zachariah, and even Michael described angels—robotic, mindless drones with a hive mentality. “So I was the last to know about my own violation.”

                Dean ground his teeth together. Sam’s eyebrows disappeared underneath his bangs in an ‘I told you so’ glare.

                “I was going to tell you,” Dean said. “If Gabriel hadn’t grown a pair, I would’ve told you.”

                “I’m not sure that’s better,” Cas said.

                “Just,” Dean nearly bit his tongue in his exasperation. “Tell us where you are. We’ll come pick you up. We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll give you all the space you need. But I don’t think you should be alone.”

                Cas breathed heavily onto the other line. Without seeing Cas’s face, it was impossible to be sure, but Dean thought Cas was crying.

                “I’m at the intersection of South Stephanie and West Horizon Ridge Parkway.”

                “Hang tight,” Sam said. “We’re on our way there. And Cas?”

                “Yes?”

                “Gabriel says. . .” Sam paused, and Dean could feel his brother’s apprehension. Was it wise to mention Gabriel? Whether it was or wasn’t, they couldn’t focus on that at the moment. “Gabriel says, don’t scratch at your wall. He said you’d know what it means. . .do you?”

                “Yes,” Cas said with a bite, like a wounded animal. Dean was relieved to hear that tone in Cas’s voice—anything was better than the robotic one he’d been using just moments earlier. It sounded more like the Cas Dean knew.

                “Good,” Sam said. “We’re on our way. Do not move and do not scratch at your wall and we’ll be there before you know it, okay?”

                “Okay,” Cas said, and then the dial tone filled the car.

                “Still gotta work on the phone etiquette,” Dean said. “I don’t think he knows you’re supposed to say good-bye before you hang up.”

                Sam snorted as he quickly worked on his phone to find the address of where Cas was at. It wasn’t too far from where they were—only about fifteen minutes, less if Dean ignored the speed limit as much as possible.

                They would figure this out. It was a bad situation, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, even if it would require the sort of chick-flick moments Dean typically made a habit of avoiding.

                And then they’d figure out how to kill Beelzebub and save the world again. If Dean got a little too angry thinking about Gabriel and what Gabriel did, he could redirect his rage by thinking of all the ways he would make Beelzebub pay for what happened to Cas.

.

.

.

                “I didn’t sign up for this,” Crowley whined. He paced back and forth, wearing a pattern into the thick wool rug of their new hotel room that the King of Hell had procured. Beelzebub didn’t understand the need for such decadence, but Crowley kept insisting that they live like the royalty they would become once Lucifer took his rightful place.

                “A bloody archangel!” Crowley continued, his face flushing red. “And not just any archangel, but Gabriel? He’s the wild card. You can’t ever begin to expect what his motives might be! The most dangerous enemy is always the one you can’t predict.”

                “Are you frightened of the poor thing?” Beelzebub asked, picking a grape off the bunch that sat on the small table. It was red and firm. When Beelzebub bit into it, it was sweet like manna.

                “Yes,” Crowley hissed. “And you should be too! He has the power to destroy everything we’ve worked for!”

                There was still a bit of blood underneath Beelzebub’s fingers. He picked at the stain, the screams of the humans echoing in his mind.

                “He won’t,” Beelzebub said.

                “You can’t be sure.”

                “But I can,” Beelzebub said, looking at his cohort. Beelzebub didn’t understand how such a bumbling coward ever came to claim the throne of Hell, but he would see to it no such atrocity went unpunished. “He had the opportunity to kill me, and he didn’t. He cares for Castiel almost as much as I do—he won’t dare harm me.”

                Crowley stammered and then fell into bumbling nonsense.

                “Enough of that,” Beelzebub said, biting into another grape. “We’re halfway done with freeing Lucifer. Humans have much more blood in their bodies than I initially realized. But I am tired of waiting, especially with the archangel running around with those idiots. I want Castiel now.”

                Crowley looked at Beelzebub, as though he were trying to dissect him. Beelzebub smiled lazily. Let the crossroad demon do what he wants. Beelzebub had nothing to hide.

                Crowley inhaled through his teeth. Beelzebub plucked another grape and rolled it between his fingertips.

                “You’re his bloody mate,” Crowley said eventually. He said the word ‘mate’ like it was a new word to him, and he wasn’t sure if he was using it correctly. “Can’t you find him?”

                Beelzebub growled and crushed the grape between his fingers. The juices dribbled down his palm onto the snow-white carpet. “I should,” he spat. “But something is hiding Castiel from me. I can’t sense him. It’s probably those human excrements. They’re holding him prisoner.”

                Crowley stared at Beelzebub wide-eyed. “I doubt it’s anything of the sort.”

                “Castiel is my mate. He’s supposed to be with me.”

                “Just a wee possessive of the angel, are you?”

                “You’ll have to forgive me,” Beelzebub replied dryly. “It’s been many, many, many years since we’ve been properly together as mates should.”

                Again, Crowley stared at Beelzebub like he was a peculiar specimen, one that had not yet been discovered.

                When Beelzebub closed his eyes and tried to search for Castiel, he came up with nothing. Something was blocking him from reaching out to Castiel, and the more Beelzebub considered the circumstances behind that, the angrier he grew. Those cockroaches that were holding Castiel would suffer ten-fold whatever tortures they had inflicted on him, Beelzebub would see to it personally. He would ensure Castiel was shielded from such horrors for the rest of eternity. And when Lucifer was freed and they stood by his side, Castiel would be lavished just as he deserved.

                Beelzebub closed his eyes and could still see the moment when they met. Beelzebub had known immediately they were meant to be—Castiel was just for him, kneeling at that brook, watching that pathetic gray blob squirm in the mud. He had to have Castiel—had to touch him, and he reached out—

                The other fledglings had screamed in terror. They tried to destroy the thing he and Castiel had, and so, Beelzebub had to silence them.

                “I should have taken him with me,” Beelzebub said. “When Lucifer came for me, I should have brought Castiel with me. There was no reason we had to be separated for so long. It’s not right for mates to be separated from one another. It drives us mad to not be near our beloved. Lucifer is my Lord and my friend. I should have stood up to him at the beginning, and not let him cow me into abandoning _en aziazor._ ”

                Beelzebub stared at the bowl of grapes. He struck the bowl, sending the ceramic crashing against the far wall. The fruits spilled onto the floor and rolled in all directions.

                “Never again,” he growled. His bony wings flapped and stretched out—the feathers had fallen out long ago, and now they were closer to the wings of bats than birds. “Castiel and I will be together,” he said, looking to Crowley. He despised Crowley. Crowley was just a coward—he was an arrogant coward, the worst kind of them all. He spoke brashly and used his suavity as intimidation—except for when it didn’t work and the foe was not afraid. Then Crowley ran like an animal, tail tucked between his legs.

                But Crowley was all he had and Beelzebub was not proud enough to believe he could complete this task on his own. Beelzebub knew God wouldn’t ever turn a sympathetic ear to him. The only being he could make this promise to was Crowley.

                “Nothing will ever keep us apart again.”

                Silence. Then an idea struck Beelzebub.

                “I can’t find him,” Beelzebub said, rising to his feet. “But you can.” He closed the distance between him and Crowley. “Can’t you?”

                Crowley swallowed. He said nothing.

                Beelzebub grabbed Crowley his shirt collar and hoisted him up off the ground, slamming him against the wall. Crowley yelped. His feet dangled uselessly in the air.

                “Find him,” Beelzebub hissed. “Look for him.”

                Crowley’s hands clamped shut. “Just, just hold on you impatient wanker! I’m—I’m—I’ve got it, I’ve got him, happy?”

                “Where is he?”

                Crowley grabbed Beelzebub’s wrist. An image flashed in Beelzebub’s mind—Castiel stood by a red building. His hands were stuffed into his coat pockets. A road ran in front of him, vehicles driving by endlessly. Castiel kept looking from right to left at the passing cars.

                Crowley pulled his hand away and the image stopped. Beelzebub was back in the hotel room.

                Beelzebub put Crowley back onto the ground. “Take me there,” he said.

                Crowley sneered, but grabbed at Beelzebub’s wrist, gripping it as tightly as he could, and the two vanished.

.

.

.

                “Don’t make him talk like you do,” Dean said, turning the last corner that separated him from Cas.

                “Excuse me?”

                “You know what I’m talking about,” Dean said. “Don’t force a chick-flick moment on him.”

                “So, we’re just supposed to pretend this didn’t happen?”

                “No,” Dean said. His patience was wearing thin—he’d been stuck behind the same car for almost ten blocks now, and the guy insisted on driving ten miles under the speed limit. “I’m saying you have to let him bring it up.”

                “And if he never does?”

                “Then we never talk about it.”

                “That’s pretending it didn’t happen—“

                “Well—well—what do you what me to do, Sam, huh? I don’t exactly have a whole lot of expertise in this area!”

                Sam sighed and pinched his noise. “Just. . . look, we’ll cross our bridges when we come to them. Just. Just take it easy. Don’t scare him off like _you_ do.”

                “Excuse me?”

                “You come off a little strong sometimes, is all. It’s not a bad thing.”

                Dean gnashed his teeth together. He did not understand what Sam was going off about, but he couldn’t worry about that right now. He was almost at the junction Cas was waiting at, and Dean’s priorities were beginning to shift. He didn’t know how he would deal with this. Dean was typically a man of action and he preferred to improvise than set a strict plan.

                He could see Cas standing against a building, looking up to the sky. Dean sighed. His insides loosened up and he could relax his shoulders. He’d figure out what he was going to say once he actually got to Cas.

                Dean pulled over and struggled to parallel park—Dean loved the Impala, it was his baby, but the thing was rather cumbersome at times. But Dean had skills and he managed—getting out was going to be another ordeal, but it was an ordeal for Future Dean so he didn’t worry about it that much.

                Cas began to walk towards them. Dean got out of the car and Sam made his way around the front. Cas’s stride was the same as Dean had always seen it—long, powerful, and purposeful, coat billowing behind him—but his face wasn’t set in stone like Dean had often seen. He looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.

                “Cas,” Dean said, when Cas was close enough, but he didn’t get to say anything.

                Cas practically threw himself against Dean. His arms were wrapped firmly around Dean’s neck, his face pressed into the junction of Dean’s shoulder. It caught Dean off-guard momentarily, and for a seconds his brain was processing what was happening. Some part of his brain was sounding an alarm, blaring _Cas is hugging you,_ but it was nearly muted by the other part of his brain that was short-circuiting.

                When he was all caught up, Dean brought his arms around Cas, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. Dean wasn’t sure what he should do in this situation. He wasn’t used to seeing Cas so emotionally vulnerable.

                “Uh,” Dean said, wincing at the sound of his own voice. God, he was already screwing things up so badly. “It’s. . .” He almost said “it’s okay” but he caught himself at the last second. It _wasn’t_ okay, and he couldn’t dare pretend otherwise. He looked to Sam beside him for assistance, but Sam only stood there and looked like someone just shot his dog in front of him.

                Dean bit down on his lip. He switched from patting Cas’s back awkwardly to rubbing circles behind Cas’s shoulder blades and hope it did something.

                Dean wasn’t quite sure how long they stood there silently. Realistically he knew it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but they seemed to drag on. Cas was pressed so tightly against him, Dean could feel Cas’s heartbeat against his skin. He tried to focus on that. Cas was wounded and probably terrified, but he was alive. They could handle anything else, so long as Cas’s heart kept beating.

                Eventually though, Cas’s arms loosened around Dean’s neck and he moved his face off Dean’s shoulder and stepped back. Dean was reluctant to stop touching Cas—he left his arm on Cas’s elbow even after Cas took a step back. Cas’s eyes were welled up, but he was fighting back the tears.

                “My apologies,” he said, avoiding Dean’s eyes. “I didn’t mean. . .”

                “Hey,” Dean said, squeezing Cas’s elbow. “It’s cool.” Dean winced again, but he couldn’t take it back. “Do you. . . want to talk about it?” Dean felt like he was poking a sleeping bear with a stick, but he really did not know what else to say or do. He couldn’t do nothing.

                Castiel raised his head and met Dean’s eyes. Yes, the tears were still there, barely being held back, but there was also a spark of resilience and stubbornness that Dean admired. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Cas said.

                “Cas,” Sam said. “That’s not true. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay—but. . . don’t do this.”

                “Do what?” There was no bite in his voice. Cas asked it sincerely, like how a child might ask why the sky is blue.

                “Don’t shut us out,” Sam said.

                Cas clenched a fist. “We should go,” he said. “Beelz—the demon is still out there, getting closer to achieving his goal by the minute. We need to focus our efforts on stopping him.”

                “But we don’t know how to stop him,” Dean said.

                Cas looked at Dean bewildered. “Gabriel can kill him.”

                Dean shared a look of disbelief with Sam.

                “If we kill him, we kill you,” Dean said.

                Cas’s eyes pinched together. “And?”

                “Oh my god,” Sam said, turning around, not even able to face Castiel. Dean stared at the angel, jaw dropped in surprise.

                “We’re not doing that!” Dean yelled.

                “Dean,” Cas said, tone dropping low. “We have to protect the world. He’s going to keep torturing and killing as long as he can—“

                “I know that!”

                “Then you know that one life cannot be equated with the lives of billions.”

                Logically, Cas was right. Dean knew that deep in his bones. If you had to kill one person to save ten, then so be it.

                But Cas wasn’t just one person. He was. . . he was Dean’s best friend, Dean’s guardian angel; a little dorky guy with wings, who at some moments could be so endearing it hurt and at others would terrify you into speechlessness, almost make you piss yourself.

                “We will figure something out,” Dean said, after too much time had passed. “We’re not giving up, not on this. You’re family, okay?”

                Cas sighed. “That’s very kind of you to say—“

                “It’s true.”

                “But there is no other way. This demon needs to be killed, and because of. . .the mating bond,” Castiel nearly spat at the words, “his death will result in mine. It’s how it is.”

                Dean looked helplessly at Sam. Sam was barely holding it together. His bangs were curtained in front of his face, a habit Sam picked up as a kid when he was trying to hide he was almost crying.

Dean swallowed and looked back at Cas. No, he refused to accept that.

“We’re not killing you,” Dean said lowly, almost a growl.

“What’s this about killing?” A familiar voice said. Ice cascaded through Dean’s blood.

                He spun around and acted on instinct—he pulled Cas close behind him. Sam moved too, stepping closer to Castiel, boxing the angel in between the two of them.

                Beelzebub and Crowley were standing there. Crowley had his hands stuffed into his suit pockets, looking painfully casual.

                Beelzebub had murder in his eyes. Cas’s fingers were fisted in Dean’s sleeve.

                Beelzebub stepped forward.

                “Back off,” Dean spat, reaching for the gun he kept at his hip. It wouldn’t do much damage to someone as powerful as Beelzebub except piss him off, but hopefully it could at least slow him down.

                _Could really use your help, Gabriel_ , Dean prayed.

                “You back off,” Beelzebub said. He snapped his fingers and Dean and Sam were flung to the side like sacks of flour.

                “No!” Dean screamed, the word tearing at his throat. He got back to his feet as fast as possible, but Beelzebub was already at Cas, reaching a skeletal hand out to touch at Cas’s cheek

                “ _En aziazor_ , it’s okay now, I’m here.”

                Cas said something in Enochian. Dean didn’t understand the words, but they sounded scathing. Whatever it was Castiel said, Beelzebub was unfazed and he grabbed Cas’s wrist with his other hand.

                “Let go of him!” Dean cried, shooting his gun. The bullet caught Beelzebub in the leg, but the demon didn’t even react.

                “We won’t ever be separated again,” Beelzebub said.

                Dean charged at them and fired his gun again, but the bullet ended up embedding in the ground as Beelzebub and Cas vanished into thin air, Crowley following them just a split second later.

                Dean stood where they had just been, panting like he was suffocating. He stood right where Castiel had just been, could still see the imprint of Cas’s boots in the sand.

                “No, no, no,” Dean muttered uselessly. “Cas? Castiel!”

                Dean’s voice echoed far off into the distance.

                “Holy shit,” Sam said. “Holy shit.”

                Dean fisted his fingers into his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

                Cas was _gone._

                Dean fell to his knees, wracked by his sobs.

                A flutter of wings behind him caught Dean’s attention. He was on his feet in a second and turning around, gun poised to shoot in the face—

                And it was Gabriel standing in front of him.

                “Can I help you?” Gabriel said impatiently.

                Dean punched Gabriel in the face. It was an instinctive reaction, one Dean paid for immediately as he felt the bones in his hands shatter on impact, but not one Dean could bring himself to regret.      “What the hell?” Gabriel said. He stretched out his jaw.

                “I called for you!” Dean cried, tears burning at his eyes. His hand felt like it was on fire. “We needed you and you didn’t come!”

                “I came as fast as I could! I’m not on-call for your service, you asshole! What the hell was so important you couldn’t handle on your own!”

                “He just fucking took Cas!”

                For a moment, the only sound was Dean’s heavy pants. Blood began to rush in Dean’s ears and he was starting to feel dizzy. He could feel the bones in his hands shifting underneath his skin. Dean crushed his teeth together. The pain in his hand was nothing. He’d had much worse over the course of his life, but his terror for Cas seemed to be amplifying the injury.

                “What?” Gabriel said quietly. He looked between Sam and Dean.

                “Yeah,” Dean growled. He stomped his feet into the ground, trying to shift his focus onto something other than the agony in his hand. “Yeah, he was just here, two seconds ago, and he flew the coop with Cas in tow!”

                “No,” Gabriel whispered. He covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh, no.”

                Not the words Dean would use to describe the situation, but at least Gabriel was giving some sort of acknowledgement.

                “What are we going to do now?” Sam asked.

                “We find Cas, of course!”

                “If it were only that easy,” Gabriel said, voice starting to pitch up in panic. “He’s warded against angels!”

                “What about demons? Look for Beelzebub or Crowley. You did it once already,” Sam said.

                “Do I look stupid to you?” Gabriel hissed.

                “Don’t talk to my brother like that,” Dean spat.

                Gabriel glared at Dean like he wished to smite him on the spot. Which Gabriel could probably do. It was probably taking every iota of Gabriel’s self-control _not_ to turn Dean into a pile of salt with just a look.

                “Beelzebub and Crowley have since learned their lessons and warded themselves against me too.”

                Dean felt like someone had stuck their hands inside his chest and were squeezing his lungs. He could barely get enough air. It was a fight just to stay standing. It would’ve been so much easier to just fall to the ground, curl up on his side, and lay there until he died.

                “So that’s it, then?” Dean asked, hitting his hands against his thighs. “We’re just going to give up?”

                “No!” Gabriel hissed. “Of course not! Are _you_ giving up?”

                “Winchesters don’t know the meaning of ‘give up’.”

                “Good,” Gabriel spat. “Glad we’re on the same page then.”

                “I guess we are,” Dean returned with vitriol.

                “We’re not giving up,” Gabriel repeated. “But it’s not gonna be just an easy thing. Until Beelzebub uses some of his power, I don’t have a way to track him down.”

                Dean pinched his eyes shut and pressed the pads of his fingertips against his eyelids. He failed Castiel. He swore he would look after Cas and take care of him, and it all fall apart at the first instance it could. Castiel was confused and probably terrified—Dean didn’t want to imagine how frightened he must be. Castiel wasn’t as powerful as he was used to being and now he was at the mercy of an assailant he didn’t even remember.

                “Well, we’re not just gonna wait around until he does,” Sam said. “There has to be something we can do. You really can’t track Crowley down somehow?”

                “No,” Gabriel said impatiently. “I’m not lying to you guys. I don’t know why you keep assuming I am!”

                “I don’t give a damn about you,” Sam said. “I don’t need to make any sorts of assumptions. I know as much about you as I ever want to know. All I care about is getting Cas back safe and ganking this Beelzebub asshole. You’re an ends to a means, got it?” Sam’s inflection was low and steady, but there was an unbridled anger anchored onto it that made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up. For all he gave Sam a hard time about being the one in touch with his feelings, Sam could be scary when he wanted to.

                “Well, at least you’re honest,” Gabriel said, matching Sam’s tone.

                “Great,” Dean said, forcing himself to speak. It had only been moments ago that Cas’s face was pressed into the crook of his neck. How had mere moments changed the shape of Dean’s world so dramatically? “Well, we’re not doing Cas any good standing here talking. We need to go and find him.”

                Gabriel’s brows furrowed. “Yeah? Where are you even going to start?”

                Dean shrugged. “Go around all the fancy hotels? I don’t know! But I’m not going to stand around with my thumb up my ass doing jack.”

                Cas needed him. Cas was hurt and scared out of his goddamn mind, and hell, he still couldn’t hear Beelzebub’s name without turning into Sleeping Beauty.

                “It’s not ideal,” Gabriel said. “He’s not going to kill Cas. I think some twisted part of him actually does love him.”

                Dean snorted and couldn’t stand to face Gabriel any longer. He stared down at the ground and had to fight for the composure against screaming at Gabriel. His hand was still on fire. “Yeah, ‘cause killing Cas is the worst thing he could do,” Dean said sarcastically.

                Gabriel walked up to him. “Whatever happens,” he said, brushing his fingertips against Dean’s elbow. Dean could feel his bones shift underneath his skin. He hissed in pain—it wasn’t painless and instantaneous like Cas’s healing was. Dean’s bones moved slowly, snapping back into place like jigsaw pieces. “As long as he’s alive,” Gabriel continued, “we can fix it.”

                He pulled his hand away.

                Dean looked at his hand and flexed his fingers. They tingled—the sort that occurred when you had slept on a limb and blood quickly flooded back in—but he could move them.

                Dean forced himself to look at Gabriel, despite himself. He didn’t agree with Gabriel. When they got Cas back (because it had to be _when_ , Dean refused to entertain any other possibilities), he wasn’t ever going to be the same. Death was not the worst outcome. Sometimes death was preferable to living under certain circumstances.

                Dean inhaled a deep breath and tried to shift his thinking towards something more positive. Castiel was a tough son of a bitch, and Dean contented himself with the fact that no matter what, Cas would not give up. He was a fighter through and through and there was no way in hell he’d ever just roll over and accept his fate.

                As long as Cas kept fighting, so could Dean.

.

.

.

                He didn’t understand. He thought taking Castiel away from Gabriel and the two mud-monkeys would enlighten him, but it only seemed to be achieving the opposite effect.

                Castiel had fought like a cornered animal, kicking and bucking, clawing and punching, and it had taken both Beelzebub and Crowley to hold him down.

                “Castiel,” Beelzebub said, narrowly avoiding getting a kick to his chin, “Castiel calm down! We’ve taken you away from them, you’re with us now!”

                “Let me go!” Castiel screamed, utilizing every part of his body as a weapon. They had stripped him of his angel blade, and he tried to use his fingernails as the same thing. He caught Crowley on the cheek, slicing through skin and muscle, gaining blood.

                “Bloody hell,” Crowley said, pressing his knee across Castiel’s waist. “Hold him still and I’ll put him to sleep!”

                “You’ll do no such thing,” Beelzebub hissed.

                “Oh, okay then,” Crowley avoided Castiel striking him with a fist, “we’ll just let him continue as it, yes siree bob, nothing wrong here, nothing at all!”

                Beelzebub loathed to admit it, but he was struggling with keeping Castiel contained. At this rate, Castiel was going to hurt himself, or they were going to hurt him. The mattress creaked and groaned under Castiel’s struggles. The generic decorations rattled against the walls. The light bulb in the ceiling fan flickered on and off, growing incredibly hot.

                “Fine,” Beelzebub said through gritted teeth. “But don’t put him to sleep. Keep him still.”

                “No!” Castiel screamed. He aimed out with another first. Beelzebub ducked to avoid it.

                Crowley put his hand over Castiel’s heart and injected a surge of energy. Castiel’s back arched off the bed, his muscles tightened up like coiled springs, and his breath seemed to freeze inside his lungs.

                Beelzebub and Crowley pulled their hands off Castiel.

                Castiel’s back dropped onto the bed, but his muscles were still very tense, bulging underneath his skin. His eyes scanned the room, panic screaming within them. His teeth were clenched together horribly tight, Beelzebub could see the temporomandinbular joint pressing against skin.

                Beelzebub brushed his fingers over Castiel’s hair. “That’s better isn’t it?”

                “At least he’s shut up,” Crowley muttered.

                Beelzebub glared at the demon. Crowley just shrugged.

                “I need a drink,” the demon said. He snapped his fingers and vanished, only to appear ten feet further away by the small refrigerator in the kitchen.    

                Beelzebub took his attention off the demon. He wasn’t important at the moment.

                “It’s all very much to take in,” Beelzebub said. “I know. It’s okay now, though. We’re together again. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I missed you.” Beelzebub managed a smile and curled his fingers in Castiel’s hair. Castiel’s eyes were wide and fearful.

                “Don’t be frightened,” Beelzebub crooned. “Those mud monkeys have no pull over you anymore.”

                Castiel tried to speak, but all that came out was verbal nonsense. “Hush,” Beelzebub chastised. “Don’t exert yourself. Everything is going to be all right.”

                Beelzebub was mesmerized by the hue of Castiel’s grace. It was more beautiful than Beelzebub remembered, and he wasn’t sure if it was due to maturation, or if he had been misremembering this entire time.

                “When Lucifer rises, we will be together as we are meant to be,” Beelzebub whispered.

                Castiel’s eyes traced across the room, landing on Crowley. Crowley stirred his drink with his finger, eyes dark and menacing.

                “He won’t hurt you,” Beelzebub said. “If he touches you, I’ll maim him. He helped me find you.”

                “It really wasn’t helping,” Crowley said. Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed and he turned away from Castiel to Crowley. Crowley’s face paled. “I mean to say, that it was my duty, my lord.”

                “That’s much better,” Beelzebub said. He turned back to Castiel and frowned. “Castiel, relax. You’re going to hurt yourself.” The veins in Castiel’s muscles popped out against his skin. Every part of him was tense, radiating fear.

                Beelzebub frowned. He didn’t understand why Castiel was so fearful of him. They were mates. It wouldn’t do if they were afraid of one another.

                “Nothing will separate us again,” Beelzebub said. “I swear it, Castiel, with all my heart. Lucifer will rule over the galaxy as he is destined, and we will stand by his side. You don’t have to be fearful of those mud monkeys anymore. They can’t get to you here, I’ve ensured it. Isn’t that right, Crowley?”

                “Absolutely,” Crowley said. “I doubt God himself could find his way past these wards you’ve conjured up.”

                Beelzebub allowed himself to feel more than an ounce of pride. He had worked hard on perfecting these wards to allow Castiel in and keep everyone else out. “I’ve had much time to practice,” Beelzebub said, thinking of millennia in Hell, surrounded by fire and screams, blood and ash.

                He had much time to make up for with his mate. Beelzebub intended to make up for every moment.

                “It’s still not safe to undo that spell,” he said sadly. “Not till I can just trust you.”

                Castiel’s wide, panicked eyes reminded Beelzebub he was making the right choice.

.

.

.

 

                   “Can we use a tracking spell on Cas?” Sam asked after several tense moments in the car. Dean hadn’t been expecting anyone to break the tense silence—certainly not Sam, at any rate. Sam grew up with Dean’s emotionally constipated bullshit and knew well enough when to shut his trap and let Dean brood. Dean was tense enough to pop a vein and probably radiated enough heat to roast marshmallows off of. But when Sam spoke, his head snapped towards his brother like a rubber band, mouth agape but no words coming out.

Then Dean glanced up in the rearview mirror to look at Gabriel, who was busy shoving a king sized candy bar down his gullet. Gabriel paused mid-bite, aware of the two sets of eyes boring into him like they could peel him apart—Dean’s from the rearview mirror, Sam having turned his entire upper body around the seat.

The Impala continued to speed down the dark road.

“Well?” Dean said after too long had passed.

Gabriel swallowed the piece of candy that had been sitting obscenely in his mouth. “Maybe?” he said eventually, shrugging.

“Maybe?” Dean and Sam said.

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “ _Maybe._ Cassie’s warded against angels, and who knows what sort of magic and spells Beelzebub and Crowley are using, so yes, _maybe_ an ordinary tracking spell will work, but only if it’s unobstructed.”

Sam turned his gaze to Dean. “Worth a try,” he said.

“I know,” Dean said, but his mouth stayed a thin line. He had to fight against raising his hopes, fight against building even the tiniest sliver to excitement at the prospect. “But what if it doesn’t work?”

It was a good idea. Of course it was the sort of idea Sam would come up with. Because Sam was a genius and kept his head on in a crisis. For all Sam went on and on about emotional health and the importance of being in tune with one’s feelings, Dean was the one that went overboard when shit hit the fan.

But what if it didn’t work? Tracking spells weren’t that complicated. The ingredients were simple and could be found in any herbal shop, and the incantation was easy and rolled off the lips smoothly.

But what if it didn’t work? They’d be exactly back to square one, still with absolutely no idea where Cas might be or how they were going to find him.

“We have to try,” Sam said. “What if it _does_ work, and we miss out because we were afraid?”

Fuck Sam and his fucking soundproof logic.

“Gabriel,” Dean snapped. “Make yourself useful and find those ingredients. Meet us back at the motel.”

Gabriel gave Dean a look that seemed to be infuriated at Dean ordering him around—it was reminiscent of that time Castiel came back from the Angel Academy with the eyes of a dead man and just said _I certainly don’t serve you,_ before he walked, not flew, away.

Despite the gaze that probably would have turned Dean to salt under different circumstances, Gabriel huffed and vanished, the familiar sound of flapping echoing in the small space of the Impala, and a cool gush of wind blowing on the nape of Dean’s neck.

The silence returned. But only for a few moments.

“It’ll be okay,” Sam said. “We’ll find him.”

Dean pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit down hard.

“I’m not giving up on him,” Sam said.

That made Dean’s nerves snap like twigs. “And you think _I_ am?”

“No,” Sam said slowly. Dean was aware of Sam’s gaze turned towards him now, burning a hot hole into Dean’s brain. “I’d never think that of you, Dean. In fact, if there’s one thing I can count on you for, it’s that you _never_ give up.”

And god, Dean hated it when Sam talked like that—like, like, Dean was something special or someone to be admired. He wasn’t, not one bit. Sam was the genius—Mister Full Ride Scholarship, Mister one-seventy two on the LSATs. Sam was someone that could’ve been something—could’ve actually gotten out and been the first to break the cycle of family hunting. He would’ve too, if Dean hadn’t drug Sam back in kicking and screaming. How could Sam look at him like that, after everything Dean did to him?

                Sam had the wrong idea, anyway. It wasn’t that Dean never gave up—he couldn’t let people go. He couldn’t let Sam go, and now he couldn’t let go of Cas.

                The silence returned again, and it stayed there until they pulled back into the shitty motel parking lot. Pulling in made Dean nervous. They rarely stayed in one place so long and they’d been at this particular motel for almost an entire week now. He wondered if they should ditch and find somewhere new, just to cover their ass a little bit. Decrease the odds of getting caught by the real feds.  They couldn’t do jack squat to help Cas if they were rotting in a federal prison.

                But Dean put the car in park and was climbing out in an instant, Sam fumbling behind—he was a mammoth and his legs had a bad tendency to get wedged behind the glove compartment.

                Dean fumbled with the key ring, but it ended up being useless because the door swung wide open, revealing Gabriel, sitting on the far bed.

                “You get the stuff?” Dean asked, trying hard to keep the vehemence out of his voice. Whether he liked it or not, they needed Gabriel, and it would be in no one’s benefit to piss the archangel off. Dean didn’t want to think that Gabriel would abandon them, not when Cas was in danger, but, well. . .he didn’t have a good track record for that sort of dependability.

                Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically. Soft pornography played on the television. “Yes, I got the stuff. It’s right there.” Gabriel pointed to the small dining table where a large, grocery type bag sat.

                Sam rummaged through the items. “And you decided it was a good idea to watch porn instead of setting it up?”

                Gabriel shrugged. “I figured you guys would want to be here when it didn’t work. Might as well enjoy the me-time.”

                “You haven’t had enough you time these last few centuries you’ve been in hiding?” Dean spat as he helped Sam set up the ingredients. The music from the television was foreign, but Dean didn’t need to understand to lyrics to understand it was shitty music—the beat was reminiscent of someone having a seizure. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, and just two pegs down from the sort of sounds from Hell that still echoed in Dean’s memory.

                “Well, _somebody_ ,” Gabriel said bitterly, “keeps interrupting that me-time.”

                “Oh, shut up,” Dean said, searching for something they could use a bowl. He was so sick of this bastard, so sick of all angels. His life was way less complicated and enraging back when he thought those dicks with wings were just stories and nothing more. If he never saw or heard from another angel again, it would be too soon.

                Except for Castiel, of course. But Dean didn’t like to group Cas in with angels anyway. Cas was so much better than the rest of the lot—he had a heart, whereas the others had some vacant pocket of ice, cold air. It seemed almost like an insult to even call Cas an angel when Dean saw how all the others were. As far as Dean was concerned, Cas was human.

                Gabriel wasn’t any better than the jerks like Zachariah, or Uriel. Sure, he went up to bat for the Winchesters once, but his actions since were less than stellar.

                And Dean would never be able to forgive Gabriel how he abandoned Cas, at a time when Cas needed him, when Cas depended on him for protection because he couldn’t yet protect himself. And if that wasn’t bad enough, to have the audacity to have Cas’s memories removed—as a way to hide his mistake. . .

                Dean really wished he could just punch Gabriel in the face again.

                “All you’ve done is whine,” Dean continued, rooting through the cabinets, while Sam checked the bathroom. “You’re worse than a little kid.” He had to stand on the tips of his toes to be able to reach to the very back, but his fingers eventually brushed against a dusty, ceramic coffee mug. Dean pulled it down and brushed it off.

                “I found something, Sam!” He set the mug in the center of the map and began to place the ingredients inside. Dean avoided eye contact, but he could feel Gabriel’s glare burning into the front of his skull.

                Sam took one look at the mug and made a face.

                “You find something better?” Dean said. “’Cause I don’t think we want to use the coffee filters.”

                Sam sighed. “It’ll do.”

                “Good,” Dean said, pulling his lighter out of his coat pocket. He smoothed out some wrinkles on the map. “Say the incantation.”

                Sam’s Latin was better, so it almost always fell to him to do the speaking parts of spells. Sam spoke slowly, pulling out syllables, emphasizing different parts. Dean kept his eyes glued to the map, refusing to look at Gabriel’s, whose glare seemed to be growing hotter by the second. Dean was surprised his hair hadn’t caught on fire yet.

                Sam neared the incantation and Dean readied his lighter. He flicked it open and could feel the heat of the flame near his fingertips.

                “Castiel,” Sam ended the incantation and Dean dropped the lighter into the bowl. The ingredients caught on fire, bursting upwards a foot high—and then the flames died and Dean clamped his eyes shut at the last possible moment. As long as his eyes were closed, as long as he didn’t see the map, he could hold onto the hope that this spell would work, that their fears of not working were all in vain. But the second he opened his eyes and confirmed—Dean didn’t want to confirm. . .

                “Dean,” Sam’s voice broke Dean’s train of thought. Sam’s voice had that euphoric edge to it that Sam got when he was nerding out about something. It wasn’t resignation, or disappointment, and that was enough to coax Dean into peeling open his eyes. It was slow and painful, like peeling off a sunburn, but it had to be done.

                Dean stared at the map, throat swollen with anticipation. It took a moment for him to register the words that remained, the rest of the map having burned away.

                “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Dean screamed.

                The words Hell, Michigan struck Dean like a slap to the face.

.

.

.

 

                “At least he has a sense of irony?” Sam provided helpfully.

                Dean snorted and rubbed at his jaw. The stubble scratched at his hand and Dean couldn’t remember the last time he shaved. He probably needed to, but couldn’t muster up the energy to complete the chore. Yeah, because demons with a sense of a humor were something to celebrate.

                “We know where he is,” Sam said, voice softer. “This is incredible! We can save him.”

                Dean nodded in agreement, but was still unable to force words out of his mouth.

                After the spell had worked and proven successful, Gabriel moved off his spot of the bed and stood by the table, staring at the map as though it were far off in the distance.

                Dean exhaled until his lungs were like deflated balloons. He forced himself to relax—he needed to relax and focused on Sam’s words. Sam was right. They knew where Cas was now. Or, at least had an approximation. A city. Dean would take it. It was something, and when they just had nothing, it was an actual blessing to have this piece of information.

                Hell, Michigan had to have been Crowley’s idea, and Dean relished in the daydreams of getting to stab that asshole in the face too. He may have been an asset in their stopping the Apocalypse, but he was a part of Cas’s capture now and Dean could not let that slide. Dean imagined the sorts of things he would do to those two fuckers who had _dared—_

                “You,” Dean spat to Gabriel, barely able to contain his rage. He could feel it coursing his veins, blood rushing in his ears like the ocean, and his stomach was doing somersaults, nausea pooled deep in his gut. “Take us there. Now.”

                Gabriel’s shoulders shuddered.

                “Get your shit,” Gabriel said. There was a note of sadness in his voice.

                “What?” Dean recoiled like he’d been slapped.

                Gabriel lifted his head and met Dean’s eyes. They were hardened, like two stones, and his jaw was set tight. “I said, get your shit. You deaf _and_ stupid?”

                Dean swallowed. “I figured it’d take a bit more arm-twisting than that. Everything else has.”

                “Dean,” Sam admonished.

                Gabriel went on, ignoring Sam. “You think I’m going ditch my baby brother, after we know where he is?”

                “Never has stopped you before,” Dean said.

                It all happened so fast, Dean didn’t even see it coming. But one moment he was standing, bent forward towards the table, and the next he was slammed against the adjacent wall so hard his teeth chattered inside his head, Gabriel’s hand fisted at the front of Dean’s shirt. Despite the height difference, Gabriel had Dean pinned upwards, so that his feet dangled useless in the air.

                “Dean!” Sam cried, but Gabriel put out a warning hand and Sam stopped, gulping.

                “Listen here, asshole,” Gabriel seethed. “I know I’ve made my share of mistakes regarding Cas, okay? I know nothing I do can ever make up for what I did. But I am _trying._ I am _trying_ to do better by my brother. I am _trying_ to be the sort of brother he needs to look after him. And I would appreciate it if you would keep your mouth shut before I rip your tongue out, and shove it up your asshole.”

                Gabriel lowered Dean to the ground and released his grip. Dean coughed and shared a look with Sam. The panic had resided, but Sam’s eyes were brewing with rage as Sam turned to glare at Gabriel’s back.

                “Pack your bags,” Gabriel continued, “and I’ll fly you to Castiel’s location. Or, you can stand there with your mouth open catching flies, and he can continue to suffer God knows what. Your choice.”

                Once they figured out how they were going to kill Beelzebub, Dean was going to kill Gabriel too.

.

.

.

                It was rare, but there had been some nights during Dean’s childhood when an emergency happened he, Sam, and Dad needed to haul ass out of a motel in a moment’s notice. There wasn’t ever time to waste to pack up suitcases and load up the car. Usually it was local police catching onto the fake credentials and coming after them, but sometimes monsters found them too. Because of this, it was habit for Dean and Sam to keep their stuff as together as possible. If something wasn’t being used, it went back into the bag. It only took them enough time to gather toothbrushes to be ready to fly Angel Air.

                “Can you take Baby too?” Dean asked. He didn’t want to leave Baby alone for so long—and besides, they would need a car in Michigan. Dean was not taking Angel Air the entire trip. His poor colon wouldn’t survive the trip. 

                Gabriel rolled his eyes.

                “I’ll have to come back for it,” he complained. “Can’t take you apes and the hunk of metal at once.”

                “So, that’s a yes?”

                “You ready or not?”

                “We’re ready,” Sam said, exasperation tearing at his voice.

                “Okay,” Gabriel cracked his knuckles. “Lock elbows, boys, this is gonna be a bumpy ride.”

                Dean hooked his elbow with Sam and used his other hand to grasp tightly onto his duffel. The strap dug into Dean’s shoulder, but he had to ignore the pain.

                Gabriel’s fingertips brushed lightly against Dean’s forehead and then he was pulled into the vortex of the ether, spinning and twisting. It was like he was stuck in a washing machine, getting tossed around like a sack of potatoes and he couldn’t see anything. Colors blurred together into a mesh of blotty browns.

                And then it was over and Dean was standing unsteadily on his feet, only held up by Sam. He gasped for air like a drowning man breaking the surface and swallowed down the urge to vomit.

                Dean blinked rapidly as his vision slowly put itself together.

                And then Dean noticed the cold.

                “Holy crap,” he muttered, teeth chattering. It was the sort of cold that went bone-deep. Dean’s muscles tightened like coils and he gnashed his teeth together, pulling his arms across his chest, but it did little. Sam was afflicted too, hunching his sasquatch form over himself. Dean’s nose was already achy and stiff, like it could break off with the right amount of force. His snot was probably frozen inside. He could see his breath in front of him.

                But Dean couldn’t dwell on the weather or the pains it brought him. He had to find Cas. Dean looked all over, but Gabriel wasn’t anywhere to be found. Dean had a slew of curses prepared on the tip of his tongue, when a giant _crash!_ made him jump out of his skin. Dean spun around on his heels to see Baby behind him, Gabriel sitting on the hood.

                “What the hell, man?” Dean screamed despite his chattering teeth. “You’re supposed to be gentle with her!”

                Gabriel rolled his eyes and jumped off the hood, dusting off his hands. “A thank you would suffice. I didn’t have to bring your metal death trap along. I could’ve left you guys stranded here.”

                Oh, Dean had so had it with all these freaking angels.

                Sam put a large hand on Dean’s shoulder.

                “Thank you, Gabriel,” Sam said. “We appreciate it.” Sam’s tone was testy. Sam was clearly at the end of his patience too, but at least he had better control of his temper than Dean. He was less likely to piss of their angelic assistant that they, unfortunately, needed in order for this rescue mission to be successful.

                Dean huffed, but forced himself to thank Gabriel too. It came out stiff and awkward, and not because of the cold, but because Dean was ready to snap. Cas was trapped somewhere, probably scared out of his goddamn mind, undergoing God knows what sort of torture, and Gabriel was prolonging it with his petulance.

                Then, Dean moved to the driver’s side door and found sanctuary from the cold inside. Dean pulled the car keys out of his jacket pocket. The freezing metal bit into Dean’s skin, so Dean bit into his lip. He started the ignition and put the heat on as high as it could go. Dean was grateful. The Impala may not have had automatic windows, or Bluetooth capabilities, but it had central air and that was all Dean needed.

                Sam was soon in the passenger seat. Gabriel popped into the backseat it, reclined so that his feet were propped over the front.

                Dean and Sam shared a look between them that expressed more than words ever could.

                “Okay,” Dean said, rubbing the stiffness out of his muscles. “Okay, we’re in Hell.” The words fell flat as they came out of Dean’s mouth. Political correctness and insensibility had never been on Dean’s priority list, but he couldn’t believe that someone had thought of this as a hilarious joke. The cold was uncomfortable, but Dean would live here forever and never complain about it if the other option was going back to actual Hell, with its actual torture. “So,” Dean continued, “how do we find Cas?”

                “Ask around,” Gabriel said. Dean shot Gabriel the angriest look he could muster. Gabriel shrugged. “What? We’ve got a Brit, a scary guy taller than Bigfoot over here, and Castiel, who, frankly, almost always looks like a lost kid in the mall. They’re not inconspicuous. Someone’s got to have noticed something.”

                Dean snorted as he shifted the gear into drive. The heat had finally started up and Dean could feel his nose again. “Buddy, I think you’re estimating the common man’s observational skills.” Dean saw a lot of horrible things during hunting, saw the evidence of people who died horrible deaths. But the most _frustrating_ part of the job was always interviewing the witnesses. It was sad, actually, to see how little people paid attention to others, especially those they were supposed to be close to.

                “Or,” Sam spoke, “maybe the opposite. Maybe we look around where nobody is.”

                Dean pulled onto the road, worrying his bottom lip. He tried to tell himself that they were better informed now than just a few minutes ago. They had the city Cas was in. A single city was a lot easier to tear apart than the entire freaking globe.

                But it still seemed like they weren’t an easier to finding and saving Cas. Dean tightened his grip around the steering wheel and held his breath in his chest.

                _Hang on, buddy. We’ll find ya, we will. Just hang on._

.

.

.

                The spell took too much out of Castiel to continue to use it indefinitely, and Beelzebub hated having to keep Castiel restrained in such a manner anyway. After several hours of Castiel’s panic plateauing instead of decreasing, he realized this wasn’t going to work.

                “You don’t have anything else we can use?” Beelzebub asked Crowley. He had one hand wrapped around Castiel’s, squeezing it tightly.

                When he looked past Castiel’s vessel and saw his true form, anger stirred inside Beelzebub. Castiel’s true form was _tarnished._ His wings blackened—the mark of a tainted angel. Beelzebub’s wings had long disintegrated into the pits of Hell, but he had the memories of Castiel’s gorgeous, soft wings to remedy his pain.

                Now, though, he saw the taint those apes had put on Castiel. They had dug their claws into his true essence and permanently scarred it.

                Beelzebub would make them suffer for their crimes against Castiel.

                But for now, he had to comfort Castiel, make him feel safe and cared for. As long as that spell was pinning him down, Beelzebub knew that wasn’t going to happen.

                Crowley shrugged slightly. “Well,” he said. “I could procure something. What is it you are thinking of?”

                Beelzebub looked down at Castiel. Past the terror that resided in Castiel’s eyes, Beelzebub saw anger. He smiled. Castiel was strong. It was one of the things Beelzebub most admired of Castiel, how strong his essence was, even when it was permeated by fear.

                “Find something,” Beelzebub said. He didn’t want to leave Castiel alone for even a moment. Crowley could run errands for a while, make himself useful. In the meantime, Beelzebub would catch Castiel up on everything, everything Beelzebub did in Hell, how he passed the millennia despite his yearning for Castiel.

                Crowley vanished. Beelzebub sat next to Castiel on the bed and began his tale.

.

.

.

                Dean only had one photo of Cas on his phone. Guilt chewed at his insides at the realization. He had stashed away the only two surviving photographs of his mother that he cherished like a life-line, that he ensured the safety of even after over twenty years. They were his most prized possessions, even more than Baby.

                But he only had photo of his best friend. Of the angel that had saved not just him, but Sam, from Hell. Their ally against Heaven and destiny.

                It wasn’t even a good picture.

                Dean had taken it back at Bobby’s, while Cas had been so sick. In the picture, Cas’s face was pale, hair long and unkempt, eyes lackluster. He looked tiny, almost swallowed up whole by the dusty duvet.

                Despite everything, though, there was still an awareness that was recognizable.

                Dean hoped it wasn’t just recognizable to him.

                The thing about Hell, Michigan was that it wasn’t exactly a town, as it was a tourist trap. There were gift shops and gimmicky signs scattered about—one particular sign boasted of a population of just under 300 people. It did not ease the nervousness in Dean’s stomach. A town this small was the sort where everyone knew everyone. An outsider should have been noticed easily, even in an area that relied so much on tourism.

                But there was so much Beelzebub could have done to hide him and Cas.

                Dean and Sam went around the town showing the picture to anyone they came across, while Gabriel took the aerial view to search. They ventured inside the gift shops, surrounded by a mass of black t-shirts sporting the phrase ‘See you in Hell’ that made Dean’s stomach uneasy.

                “We’re looking for our friend,” Dean told the cashier as he passed along his phone. Nervousness clogged up his throat as the cashier looked over the photo. “We were separated and it’s really important we find him.”

                The cashier gave Dean a sympathetic smile before he gave the phone back. “Sorry, man,” he said. “Pretty sure I’d remember a guy like that coming through here.”

                Dean didn’t get the chance to ask what the hell the guy meant by that before Sam was steering them out of the shop, thanking the worker for his time.

                “You said he was hiding out in a hotel last time, right?” Sam asked as they trod down the steps of the store. “We just got to check all the hotels around here. Here’s got expensive taste, it shouldn’t be hard.”

                Dean had already considered that. He kept looking at the photo on his phone.

It was an awful photo. It did nothing to depict the Castiel Dean knew. The Castiel that Dean knew was a tough son of a bitch, a warrior through and through. The Castiel that Dean knew was their ally against heaven and destiny. The Castiel that Dean knew was ancient and wise and it showed in his eyes.

When they found Cas, Dean would fill his entire memory card with pictures of Castiel.

“Yeah,” Dean finally said. “We’ll need Gabriel to use his angel mojo to get us in. But we need some kind of plan.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You want to write a plan?”

                Dean frowned. Okay, so yes, he was more of a man of action. He liked to improvise. Besides, in _Scooby-Doo_ they always made a plan and it always got screwed up, but everything still worked out in the end. So really, planning was just a waste of both time and resources.

                But Dean couldn’t risk it this time, not with Cas on the line.

                “We can’t kill him,” Dean said. Because even when they didn’t have a plan, that was the goal they were aiming for. Gank the bastard, have a celebratory drink, then they’d go home. Gabriel’s words wouldn’t stop ringing in Dean’s ear.

                If they killed him, then they killed Cas. And then Dean was struck by Cas’s nonchalance, Cas insisting they should follow through and kill Beelzebub anyway. God, it had only been earlier today all this happened, it felt like _weeks_.

                Cas’s insistence was nothing. Dean was adamant. They were not doing anything that would kill Cas.

                “Maybe we can trap him,” Sam said. “Devil’s trap worked on Alistair and Azazael. Holy fire too might help.”

                Dean nodded. It was worth a try. “But how are we going to set it up? We’d need him to come to us.”

                Sam sighed. He looked up to the sky, like he always did when he was thinking. “He’s trying to free Lucifer, right? Maybe we can lure him out. I’m Lucifer’s vessel—“

                “Hold on now,” Dean interrupted, raising a hand. “You better not—“

                “No! Of course not! Look, he’s told us he’s not going to kill us, right? ‘Cause he’s saving us for Lucifer? We’ve got a _Trickster_ on our side, Dean.”

                Dean bit his lip. “You think we can actually trick him?”

                Sam shuffled his feet. “I think we owe it to Cas to try.”

.

.

.

                There were several motels and hotel in the general vicinity of Hell, Michigan due to tourism. Dean and Sam found one to set up base in, and Dean tried not to feel guilty about skipping out on the Las Vegas one. Granted, they used fake credit cards anyway, but Dean still felt bad about scamming honest, hard-working people.

                This motel was a little nicer than the Las Vegas one and smelled clean for once, so Dean wasn’t going to complain. He set a map out onto the small dining table. He had Sam’s laptop beside him and was marking all the hotels within a twenty mile radius. Sam took inventory of their supplies, making sure they had enough spray paint, salt, and holy oil.

                Gabriel was being less obnoxious than usual. Dean wondered if the seriousness of the situation had finally struck him.

                “Cat got your tongue?” Dean couldn’t help but provoke a little. This guy was still an asshole who waited too long to help.

                Gabriel had pulled another candy bar out of thin air, but he was only staring at it, lacking the usual gusto with which he ate.

                “He’s not praying to me,” Gabriel said.

                Dean looked up at Gabriel. Gabriel actually looked sad.

                “Thought you said he was warded from you.”

                “He is,” Gabriel said. “But, even if I can’t locate him, I should still be able to _hear_ him. . .” Gabriel looked at his candy bar the way Dean looked at carrots and he threw it into the trash can. “Okay, so I haven’t been the best big brother, but was I really so bad that he won’t call me for help?”

                Oh, Dean so did not have it in him to play Dr. Phil to an archangel. He couldn’t even manage solving the relationship problems between him and his own brother. How the hell was he supposed to solve other people’s?

                “Don’t take it personally,” Dean said. “Cas is a strong, independent angel who don’t need no man.”

                “Dean,” Sam muttered under his breath.

                “I should smite you,” Gabriel hissed. “Unfortunately, for some reason I have yet to decipher, Cassie is attached to the both of you. He’d be upset if I rescued him only to realize his pets were dead.”

                “That is enough!” Sam shouted. “I have had it with both of you! None of this is helping Castiel. Stow your crap, both of you.”

                Gabriel looked like he had more to say, but he swallowed it down.

                Sam groaned and tossed the duffel bag to the ground. “Okay, here’s the plan. We’re gonna find a safe spot to set up the devil’s trap. We’re gonna summon Crowley—“

                That caught Dean’s attention and he looked up from the map, enraptured by Sam.

                “—Crowley is going to lead us to Beelzebub and Castiel.”

                “Hold on a second,” Dean said. “Since when are we summoning Crowley?”

                “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

                “You want to make a deal with him?”

                Sam looked at Dean with an expression that said ‘do I look stupid to you?’.

                “Maybe,” Sam said eventually. “Depends on what happens. Either Beelzebub follows Crowley, or he doesn’t. Those are the options. Beelzebub does, boom, we’ve got him trapped. Beelzebub doesn’t, we’ve still got Crowley, and that guy’s nowhere near as tough as he pretends to be. We’ll be able to wheedle information out of him.”

                Dean didn’t like the idea of working with Crowley, but they didn’t have much of a choice. At least Sam was right about Crowley being a wuss. The demon had never been able to intimidated Dean, even with his whole ‘King of Hell’ spiel. Crowley was a coward, and he was self-serving, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d do anything to save his own ass. Sam and Dean would have to make that work to their advantage.

                “We need him to be more afraid of us than he is of Beelzebub,” Dean said.

                “Or appease his sensibilities. Remember why Crowley helped us the first time? He doesn’t want the Apocalypse any more than we do.”

                Dean snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, right. ‘Cause if there ain’t no World, he can’t get any soul contracts.”

                Sam shrugged. “Sorry, man, but honestly? I don’t have sympathy for people who make demon deals. They know what they’re signing up for.”

                “Hey!”

                Sam shrugged again. “Okay, I only have sympathy for you. But even you knew what you were getting into.”

                Well, not exactly. Dean knew when his contract expired, he’d go to Hell. But he never really understood what Hell was until he went. Nothing could have prepared him for that. He understood Sam’s point—in a World where innocent, clueless people died every day at the hands of monsters, Dean couldn’t worry his time with people who brought destruction on themselves. Still. There were very few people who were so atrocious in their lives that they deserved what Hell had to offer. Hitler. Mussolini. Ghangis Khan.  That guy that discovered Justin Bieber.

                “I don’t like it,” Sam continued, “but we have common interests with Crowley.”

                Dean looked at Gabriel. “You think Crowley’ll piss his pants if there’s an archangel with us?”

                Gabriel snorted. “If he’s smart. But Dean’s right, for once. He’s only working with Beelzebub because he’s scared of Beelzebub. Crowley just needs the right motivation.”

                “Alright then,” Dean said, rubbing his hands. He looked back at the map. “Let’s find an open field.”

.

.

.

                Crowley came back within the hour, holding in his hand a pair of manacles. Beelzebub took them suspiciously, inspecting every detail. They were engraved with sigils Beelzebub recognized as ones meant to keep an opponent subdued. He looked at Crowley curiously.

                “It’ll do everything that spell will do, without needing to use the spell.”

                Beelzebub nodded. Anything was better than using a spell, especially one that kept Castiel so uncomfortable.

                Beelzebub snapped one end of the manacle on Castiel’s wrist, and pulled Castiel’s arm above his head. The other end he snapped onto the bedpost. He tested it, ensuring it was tight and had no slack, and that Castiel wouldn’t be able to pull his hand out.

                Once Beelzebub was happy, he snapped his fingers, ending the spell.

                Castiel lashed out with his free hand, screaming, low and guttural. “Let me go!” Castiel screamed.

                Beelzebub turned to Crowley. “You said—“

                “He’s fighting it,” Crowley snapped. “Bugger’s more stubborn than I gave him credit for.”

                “Crowley,” Castiel gasped between his screams of rage, “Crowley!” There was a hint of despair in Castiel’s voice, that Beelzebub found strange.

                Crowley ignored Castiel, though, and kept his eyes focused on Beelzebub. “What are you going to do now, my lord?” Crowley said. “You’re not nearly done with the ritual yet, are you?”

                “No,” Beelzebub said angrily. There was still much to prepare for. He was squandering his time. Once Lucifer was free and had taken his rightful place on the throne of the galaxy, he and Castiel would have all eternity to be together.

                “But I don’t want to leave him alone.”

                Castiel pulled a syringe out of his sleeve and smiled widely. “This’ll fix that problem real quick.”

                Beelzebub stared at it cautiously. “What will that do?”

                Castiel kept kicking and screaming, “No! No! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill _both_ of you—“

                They continued to speak over Castiel.

                “Give this to him, Castiel won’t even know you’ve gone.”

                “Crowley, please, _no_ —“

                “Do it,” Beelzebub said. He turned back to Castiel. “I’ve got much to do, _en aziazor_. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

                Crowley grinned as he walked towards Castiel, syringe in hand.

                Castiel’s screams and struggles lessened as Crowley injected with him with the medicine. Within a minute, Castiel had stilled, and his eyes shut closed in sleep.

                Beelzebub sighed and allowed himself one soft kiss before he vanished, determined to finish his quest as soon as possible.

.

.

.

                They had to wait until after sunset to perform the summoning spell. There was an open field right in the center of town, behind one of the signs that proudly displayed “Welcome to Hell!” with a little cartoon demon in the corner. It wasn’t private, but the shops had longed closed up for the night, and traffic had vanished. It would have to work. Besides, Dean tried to tell himself, it was dark enough that it would near impossible to tell what they were doing from a distance.

                Sam finished the devil’s trap as Dean buried the box. He smoothed the dirt out under his palms. Hopefully they could finish what they needed to do and be out of this town in just a few hours. It would be hard to explain the giant pentagram that appeared overnight in a town smaller than most elementary schools.  

                Or maybe people would appreciate the new décor. Dean figured you had to be a little crazy to live in a town named Hell.

                “Okay,” Dean brushed off his hands and pushed himself to his feet. He stepped outside the devil’s trap. “Show time.”

                It took just a few seconds for the center of the devil’s trap to fill with Crowley. Crowley’s jaw was tightened, eyes wild as they darted in all directions as he assessed the new situation. He saw Dean and Sam, anger etched into the corners of his eyes—and then his eyes landed on Gabriel. It lasted only for a second, but Dean caught it—the minute flash of terror that resided there before it was replaced with Crowley’s usual indifference.

                “Is Beelzebub coming to follow you?” Sam asked.

                Crowley snorted. “Maybe. Maybe not. You mean to tell me you took a gamble on that? I knew you Winchesters were stupid, but even I never thought you were this stupid.”

                Sam and Dean shared a look.

                “He’s not coming,” Gabriel said.

                “He’s not, eh?” Crowley said, turning towards Gabriel. “What makes you so sure?”

                “If he was, he’d be here by now,” Gabriel said. “Which brings the question then, why wouldn’t he be coming?” Gabriel clicked his tongue. “He’s off doing something, isn’t he?”

                “We’ll worry about that asshat later,” Dean spat. “Where the hell is Cas?”

                Crowley laughed. “Relax, darling. Your boy toy’s fine. All circumstances considered.”

                “Here’s how it’s going to go, you pitiful little cockroach,” Gabriel said, breaching the devil’s trap. Crowley swallowed as Gabriel moved into his personal space, but he did his best to hide his fear. Crowley’s eyes flicked red, shark-like teeth pierced through his gums, and his skin seemed to grow scales. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck rise, but Gabriel remained unfazed.

                “You’re going to tell us where the hell Castiel is,” Gabriel continued. He grabbed Crowley by the shoulder and squeezed tightly. “Then you’re going to tell us where Beelzebub is. Then you’re going to help us send Beelzebub back into the Pit.”

                “I am, am I?” Crowley hissed.

                Gabriel’s grip tightened. “Or you could not, and I can smite you into granules so small, not even the Hubble telescope will be able to make out the pieces.”

                Crowley made an animalistic sound. Dean flinched at the sound. It was like someone had taken a cheese grater to his brain. His nerves were on fire and he had to focus on his breathing—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—because with it being so dark, and Crowley’s eyes so red, and the horrible sounds he made so loud, it was almost like he was in Hell again.

                “You don’t want Lucifer ruling any realm, either,” Gabriel continued. “So, you know that thing you sold your soul for? Yeah—you should’ve asked for bigger balls instead of adding three inches to your willy.”

                Gabriel said it serious as death, but it took a moment for the words to actually register in Dean’s mind, and when they did, he had to look at Sam to make sure he heard right. For one beautiful moment, the seriousness of the situation escaped them and he and Sam busted out into laughter.

                “What?” Dean said, struggling to breath though the laughter that had his stomach in knots. Tears swelled in his eyes. “You sold your soul—“ Dean couldn’t get the words out.

                “For a bigger package?” Sam finished. He was laughing too, and it was a beautiful sound. Dean couldn’t remember when the last time he heard Sam laugh was. These last five years really hadn’t given them much to laugh about. Dad disappeared and Sam’s girlfriend died. Then they found Dad. Then Dad died and they had to deal with Azazel’s uprising army and figure out how Sam was involved. Then Dean had sold his soul and he went to Hell and when he came back they had an Apocalypse to stop.

                It’d been so long since they could kick back and relax. Even now, threats still loomed over their heads. Cas was missing and in the hands of an assailant that wanted to free Lucifer.

                But if there’s something Dean learned over these last awful years, you had to find somethings to laugh about when you could.

                Like finding out the supposed King of Hell sold his soul for a larger penis.

                Dean sold his soul to save Sam. He’d met others, in Hell and on Earth, that sold their souls for other noble reasons. To cure a loved one of cancer, to escape from an abusive situation, to give their children a better future than they ever could have dreamed for themselves.

                To hear that Crowley sold his soul for what he did. . .

                Dean rubbed at the tears that had pooled in his eyes.

                Gabriel canted his head. “Yeah, Crowley here may have a big wee-wee, but he doesn’t have the balls to go with it.”

                “Oh, you’re going to call me a coward, are you?” Crowley growled. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Oh, wait. You’re just made that up to skip out on the big family reunion. Pot, meet kettle.”

                Gabriel took his other hand and grabbed Crowley by the front of his suit. The tips of Gabriel’s fingers turned a bright, hot blue. Crowley made a pitiful noise.

                “Where is my brother?”

                Crowley choked, despite the fact he had no need for air.

                “Tell us,” Dean spat.

                “He’s at the Embassy Suites, five miles down the road. Room 401.”

                “And Beelzebub?”

                Crowley’s mouth turned to a thin line. The blue light grew brighter. Crowley gasped.

                “He’s off gathering supplies for the ritual.”

                “You mean innocent blood?” Gabriel said.

                Crowley shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it. He needs blood and the essence of a demon. Essence of a demon, he can get from himself. He’s almost got enough blood.”

                The levity of the situation was swallowed whole. The countdown clock started up again. Beelzebub was out there somewhere, torturing and killing innocents, while they were standing here laughing about Crowley’s genitals.

                “Take us to Cas,” Dean said. They’d save Cas and figure out a way to stop Beelzebub. They’d find a way to break the mating bond or whatever it was that Beelzebub held over Cas.

                Crowley barked in laughter, but there was a note to hysteria to his voice. “Do you have any idea what he’ll do to me when he comes back and sees that his precious angel is gone?”

                “Do you have any idea how much we don’t care?” Dean said.

                Gabriel gnashed his teeth together. He took one hand and placed it flat on Crowley’s chest. Crowley screamed like he was being burned alive—it was uncomfortable enough that Dean almost stepped in to stop Gabe before he killed Crowley. Bastard Crowley may be, they needed him—he was no good to them dead.

                But before Dean could say anything, Gabriel dropped Crowley. The demon fell to his knees on the dirt, clutching at his chest, wheezing for air he didn’t need. He looked up at Gabriel, eyes full to the brim with pain. He pulled at his shirt, the top buttons coming undone to reveal that a nasty looking, bright red scar. Dean couldn’t accurately describe the shape of it. It was like an upside down Y shape, with various dots at the corners. Whatever it was, Dean was glad it hadn’t been done to him.

                “What did you do to me?” Crowley shrieked.

                “Protection spell,” Gabriel said. “Beelzebub won’t be able to lay a finger on you. ‘Course, he can still kill you without his fingers, so.” Gabriel popped his lips. “You’ll take us to Castiel. We’ll make it look like we stormed the place, tie you up a bit, rough you up some. Give you the perfect alibi. Beelzebub can’t expect you to hold your own against an archangel, can he?”

                Dean broke into the devil’s trap. He had enough of this verbal merry-go-round. Beelzebub had left Cas. For how long they couldn’t know, but they couldn’t just sit here with their thumbs up their asses. Every second they stayed there bickering was a second they should’ve spent saving Cas.

                “That’s what we’re doing. Got it?” Dean spat. “Good. Take us to Cas _now._ ”

                Sam followed Dean past the paint.

                “Well?” Gabriel said.

                Crowley snarled. He snapped his fingers.

                Demonic teleportation was nothing like the angelic variety. With angels, it was like being stuck in a washing machine, always being twisted and turned upside down. Demonic teleportation, Dean discovered, wasn’t as jerky.

                It was like a freefall from an airplane. Without a parachute. Dean’s stomach flew up into his throat. When they landed, he couldn’t maintain his balance and fell flat on his face onto the carpet—getting rug burn, _again._ Dean bit into his lip from the impact. He quickly tasted blood. Sam landed much the same way, if his quiet groans were any indication.

                 Dean was pushing himself onto his elbows before Gabriel’s cry caught his attention.

                “Castiel!”

                At that, Dean found the strength to push himself to his feet and turn his head.

                Cas was on one of the beds, one arm pinned above his head, manacled to the bedpost. Gabriel was by his side, but Castiel was unresponsive. His eyes were open, but unfocused, staring listless at a single spot on the ceiling.

                Gabriel slapped Cas’s cheek gently. “C’mon, bro, c’mon.”

                Castiel made no acknowledgement of their presence.

                “What did you do to him?” Dean spat, turning to Crowley.

                “He’s fine,” Crowley returned Dean’s vitriol. “Castiel’s little boyfriend just gave him a little sedative, is all. He’ll be fine in a few hours.”

                Dean was indignant. How dare that bastard! It wasn’t as if he hadn’t violated Cas enough already, but now he’d forcibly taken away ability to Cas’s fight too. Dean was going to kill the bastard twice.

                “Fine, whatever,” Gabriel said. “We don’t have time for this.” Gabriel examined the handcuffs and huffed. He wrapped his hand around the chain and gave it a simple shake. The cuff unhooked and Cas’s hand fell down off the edge of the bed.

                The next few seconds happened so fast, Dean could barely keep up. Gabriel held the handcuffs in one hand and then in a second he’d spun around so fast it was like a tornado, slapping one end onto Crowley’s wrist. Crowley squalled, but then Gabriel had the demon on the empty bed, snapping the other end of the manacle to the bedpost, putting him in the exact same position Cas was just in.

                “Bloody piece of scum!” Crowley screamed.

                “It’s what we agreed on,” Gabriel said, rolling his shoulders and shooting the demon a cocky grin. “Remember—you hold up your end of the deal, we’ll holds ours.”

                As Gabriel taunted Crowley, Dean and Sam moved closer to the bed Castiel was on. Dean put his two forefingers to Cas’s jugular. The pulse was steady, if relaxed, much like that of someone in a very deep sleep.

                “C’mon, Cas,” Dean said, gripping tightly to the angel’s shoulder. He gave it a gentle shake. “Wake up.”

                Cas’s chest rose and fell steadily. His eyes remained open, but unfocused, and he gave no indication that he was consciousness.

                “He’s fine,” Gabriel said, coming up beside them. “He’ll sleep off whatever it was they gave him. It’s not dangerous, that much I can tell, but we got to go, so everyone hold hands.”

                “And what—“ Crowley yelled like he was about to bust his vocal cords. He pulled on the handcuffs like a wild animal. “He’s going to kill me when he gets back!”

                “Nah,” Gabriel said. “He’s not. You’ve got archangel protection, baby, that’s more than even these two bozos are packing. You’re better protected than the Pentagon, so stop your whining.” Gabriel turned to look at Sam and Dean. “Hold onto me with both hands.”

                Dean grabbed onto one arm, Sam the other. Gabriel held onto Castiel with both his hands and Dean prepared to be teleported again in just under ten minutes. He was going to need a new colon at the rate this was going.

                “Ready? It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

                Dean clamped his eyes shut and then was caught in the whirlwind.

.

.

.

                Dean retched into the toilet, stomach twisting painfully with the motion. His esophagus burned and his eyes watered, but he thought he finally was done vomiting. He spat into the toilet and rose to his shaky legs

                He rinsed his mouth out in the sink. The water tasted unfiltered and Dean grimaced as he turned the tap off. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then went back into the main room.

                Castiel hadn’t regained consciousness yet, but Gabriel kept insisting that he was fine. Dean couldn’t help but worry. Angels weren’t supposed to sleep. Every time Dean had seen Cas sleep it was because he was injured somehow. Like time-traveling twice. Or when he was Falling, becoming more human by the hour and needing to do human things like sleep and eat. There was breaching the Cage of Hell to save Sam when he was comatose for over a week.

                Dean supposed he didn’t have a choice but to trust Gabriel’s judgement, unfortunately. Until Gabriel grew anxious at Cas’s recovery speed, Dean had to swallow his worry. It would only cloud his head, which was the opposite of what they needed right now. Dean needed to be clear headed.

                Beelzebub might’ve come back to the hotel room already and seen that Cas was missing. Dean didn’t want to imagine what the demon would do to get Cas back. Dean wasn’t sure how they could protect Cas from him.

                As Dean thought about, his anxiety switched from Cas not waking up to what would happen when Cas did wake up. Dean had failed at protecting Cas. He hadn’t been able to save Cas when Cas needed it. Cas had been emotionally vulnerable, his whole perception of his life and self turned upside down. Cas had been scared, and he leaned onto Dean for support.

                Dean could still feel Cas’s face pressed into the crook of his neck. Castiel rarely opened up like that, exhibiting such raw emotion, a desire for comfort. In that moment, Cas had needed Dean.

                And Dean failed him.

                When Castiel did regain awareness, Dean had no clue what he was going to do. Or say. He wasn’t sure how they were going to win this time.

                They weren’t going to kill Beelzebub if it was going to kill Cas. They weren’t. Dean wouldn’t allow it.

                There was another way. There had to be another way.

                Dean sat at the small chair and rubbed at his face. His eyes scanned around the room. Gabriel had made a few tweaks to protective warding and painted it on every wall, nook, and cranny of the motel room. Enochian was complicated enough on its own, but seeing these altered designs made Dean’s head hurt. Dean knew he wouldn’t have been able to manage the sort of precision required for this task. Gabriel had explained that these altered sigils would perform the same tasks as the normal ones, but allow Castiel and Gabriel as exceptions.

                “Guess we’re not getting our safety deposit back,” Dean said.

                “It’s not like it was your money anyway,” Gabriel said.

                Dean didn’t have a rebuttal.

                Salt was spread by the door and windowsills and Dean could already see ants making their ways underneath the cracks of the door to lap at the delicacy.

                “Is there really not a way to break a mating bond?” Dean didn’t realize he’d asked the question until the last word was past his lips and into the atmosphere.

                Gabriel sighed. “Not that I know of,” he said eventually.

                “So there could be a way.”

                “If there was a way, I think we would have found it by now.”

                “There’s another way,” Dean said, surety running through his veins like fire. Yes, now he was absolutely sure there had to be another way. Angels didn’t think there was a way to avoid the Apocalypse and they averted that. Breaking rules and expectations were what Winchesters did best. What did angels know? Together, he, Sam, and Cas had defied _God_ , when the odds were up against them, when they were backed into a corner with no extra help on their side and they came out the victors.

                They’d come out the victors again this time. It didn’t matter what anyone said or did, what the rules were. They’d tear it up all again.

                At some point, Sam turned the television on. The local news station was running a surprise segment on the devil’s trap that was smack in the center of Hell, Michigan. So far they were only calling it an act of teenage vandalism and nothing more. No one suspected any real act of witchcraft behind it.

                No one ever did.

                Dean tried searching on his laptop for any reports of murders that may be linked back to Beelzebub, but he was unsuccessful. So, either Beelzebub hadn’t killed anyone, or he’d gotten better at covering his tracks. Which Dean supposed was reasonable. He already had Cas at that point—there was no reason for him to try and lure them to his location.

                He would try again, Dean was sure. Take Cas again. Dean wouldn’t let that happen. He’d die before he let that happen again.

                Outside, it started to rain. It started slowly at first, a soft drizzle that sounded pleasant against the tin roof, orchestrating a gentle pattern of soft noise. Then, the storm grew harsher. The winds howled. The lightning was violent and blinding, the following thunder near deafening. Sam changed to the Weather Channel thirty minutes into the storm, and Dean quietly lamented the fact that they were old enough to unironically watch the Weather Channel.

                Still, Dean pitied the poor men who got stuck outside in the storm—the reporter and the camera man were soaking to the bone, shivering. The reporter had to yell to be heard over the howling winds. Apparently, the entire Midwest was struck with these sudden, violent storms, literally coming out of nowhere. There’d been no indication on any radars. There was no word on when the storms might let up.

                Gabriel smacked his lips. “This is it, boys,” he said. “He’s gearing up.”

                “One demon is causing all this?” Sam said. Dean’s eyes were glued to the television screen. Demonic presence could cause a sudden change in weather, yes. But never of an area this large, and of this magnitude. Not even Lucifer had managed patterns this strong just on his own. He had his demon hordes to help him.

                “He’s powerful, and he’s pissed. Probably just realized Cassie here’s missing.”

                Dean looked over his shoulder to Castiel. Castiel had, over the last few hours, slowly became more cognizant. He still wasn’t talking, but his eyes were regaining awareness, and they held a spark of that intense focus that Dean could always get with Cas. Dean seriously wondered what it was that had rendered Cas to this state. It had taken an entire liquor store to get him drunk, and a full bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol for the proceeding hangover. Even if he was drugged to his eyeballs, Dean couldn’t believe Cas could sleep through this storm. Dean couldn’t have. If this storm really was Beelzebub’s way of having a temper tantrum. . .

                Dean startled when he felt something grip at his wrist. His attention was back at Cas, who blinked sluggishly, and muttered, “Hello, Dean.”

                Sam and Gabriel were on their feet in an instance, settling near the foot of Cas’s bed.

                “Hey, Cas,” Dean said, forcing a smile. “Uh, you okay?”

                Cas blinked slowly. Dean had the feeling that Cas wasn’t running on one-hundred percent just yet, but he was talking. That was a vast improvement. “Considering the circumstances, I suppose.” Cas struggled to push himself into a sitting position, and Dean wanted to push him back against the pillows, tell him to take it easy and relax, but he knew Cas wasn’t going to be swayed. Cas’s eyes scanned the motel room, surveying everything, including Sam and Gabriel. The storm continued to rage, trees branches slamming against the walls of the motel.

                “How. . .?” Cas asked.

                “You’re safe,” Dean said hastily. “We tracked you down and saved you.”

                Cas’s eyes narrowed, brow furrowing. “Yes, but how?”

                Dean chuckled humorlessly and shrugged one shoulder. “We, uh, we had some help.”

                Cas’s eyes closed and he nodded slowly. A small tremor ran down his spine.

                “Cas?” Dean asked cautiously. The tremor went as far up as Cas’s shoulders. They trembled the way they do with violent sobs. Small, hitched breaths escaped from Cas’s mouth. Dean frowned and looked up to Sam and Gabriel. They were just as what to do as clueless as Dean was—Cas was crying. Dean didn’t handle crying well. He never did. It was why he hated crying—all he could do was stand there uselessly, still as a statue. His eyes begged for Sam or Gabriel to do something. Sam always handled this sort of thing better, even with witnesses and victims of hunts. And Gabriel—he was Cas’s brother. This was kind of his duty.

                But they stood there uselessly too at the foot of the bed. Dean cursed them both and swallowed the lump in his throat. He reached out slowly and gently touched Cas’s shoulder. Cas jerked slightly, but only out of surprise, Dean surmised, and not fear.  

                Cas’s eyes opened slowly. Tears welled up in his eyes.

                “Hey,” Dean said gently.

                “The wall is broken. I remember everything,” Cas said.

 


	7. Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INCOMING: My first attempt at smut. Sorta.

**PART VII**

 

                Nobody said anything for several long, ticking seconds. The sound of Cas’s hitched, strangled breaths filled the empty space. Dean was useless. Cas was being assaulted by emotions he still wasn’t acclimated to yet, and Dean couldn’t do anything about it.

                Finally, after the horrendous noise went on long enough, Gabriel cleared his throat. He met Dean’s eye, and seemed to be sending a silent message.

                Dean stepped back and let Gabriel take his place.

                “Hey, bro,” he said, forcing a smile. Castiel met Gabriel’s gaze. Dean didn’t think he could have survived if Cas had given him that look. There was so much anger in Cas’s gaze; the sort of anger that was old and rotted, having festered for years. Contempt.

                “Uh,” Gabriel said. Even he, an archangel, was cowed by Cas’s glare. “Um.”

                “I don’t want to talk to you,” Cas said in an even, strangled voice. He was obviously fighting against the tears.

                Gabriel’s entire face fell. The bravado, the snark, the arrogance, was all erased away and instead Gabriel looked like a little kid who just found out his dog died.

                “Cassie,” Gabriel said.

                “Get out,” Cas said.

                The storm outside still raged on. Lightning kept illuminating the room, thunder booming off in the distance, winds howling. Despite growing up mostly in the North American Midwest, Dean had only ever been in one tornado. It’d been during another one of those awful nights when Dad still hadn’t come back from a hunt, and he and Sam were left alone in a motel room, with the little emergency weather radio screeching through static. Dean had been twelve at the time and didn’t know how he knew—just something in his nerves told him he had to act now. He grabbed Sammy by his wrist, practically dragged him across the room and into the bathroom, and together they got into the bathtub. Dean threw himself over Sam just in time to hear the windows in the room shatter.  

                It had only lasted for a few minutes after that. There had been a terrifying silence that followed, lasting longer than the storm. Dean had been too terrified to move, to get up from shielding Sam, and so they stayed there in the bathtub for a long time, until there was a hurried knock on the door and the motel manager broke in to check on them. Dean remembered him being a nice man. He took Sam and Dean down into the Employee’s office and gave them candy and coloring books.

                As the winds outside continued to howl, Dean worried it was a tornado.

                “Cas?” Gabriel said.

                Cas sat up straighter. “How could you? How could you take me to her?” He touched the lacrimal caruncle of his eye, hand shaking.

                Gabriel had the decency to look ashamed. “I had to,” he said. “I wasn’t. . . I wasn’t going to leave you with those memories.”

                “Why not? You already left me once.”

                Dean knew he and Sam were intruding on something personal and private. This was a conversation Castiel and Gabriel needed to have by themselves, no outside interference. But there was nowhere for he or Sam to go, except to squish themselves inside the cramped bathroom and they’d still be able to hear what was being said.

                And anyway, Dean was paralyzed in shock. It was like his feet had been nailed to the floor.

                “I know,” Gabriel said softly. “I know what I did.”

                Castiel scoffed.

                “Go away,” he repeated. “I want to talk to Dean.”

                Cas’s eyes steered past Gabriel and locked onto Dean.

                Angels shouldn’t look so sad, Dean thought. It wasn’t right.

                “C’mon, Cassie,” Gabriel said, attempting to put that mischievous edge back into his voice, but it fell flat. “Cassie—“

                “Don’t call me that.” It had been a while since Dean had heard that tone from Cas—the clipped, no-time-for-your-bullshit, warrior of God gravel of his voice that just wanted to do his job and do it right. “I want to talk to Dean.”

                Gabriel reeled back. “Okay. Okay. Uh.” Thunder boomed so loudly the building shook. The television went out with a loud pop and now Dean was sure there was a tornado outside somewhere, and he struggled to keep his breath calm.

                Gabriel stepped back cautiously. “I’ll just. . .” he cocked his head to the side just a bit. “Want me to take Sam too?”

                Castiel looked at Sam. The malice disappeared, and was replaced by the softer, gentler version of Castiel that the Winchesters had come to know.

                “Sam is welcome to stay.”

                The message was clear. Sam was Castiel’s brother. Gabriel was not.

                Sam’s apprehension was written on his face.

                “Uh,” Sam said, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll stay if you want me to, Cas. But if you want to have a, uh, private conversation with Dean. . .”

                “Please, Sam. Stay.”

                Sam gnawed at his lower lip and nodded. Gabriel flew away, the flap of wings creating a small vortex of wind within the motel room.

                When Gabriel was gone, Dean sat cautiously on the edge of the bed, next to Cas.

                “So,” Dean said. He was so out of his element and he didn’t understand why. He dealt with trauma victims day in and day out. And even if Dean wasn’t great at the emotional conversations, he could at least put on his big boy pants and say what needed to be said. Improv had always been a good friend to him. Got him out of trouble just barely more than it got him into it.

                Here. Right now, with the trauma victim being his best friend, the words wouldn’t come to him.

                Thank Cas’s deadbeat dad for Sam.

                “Hey,” Sam said, finally moving closer. “Um.”

                “You two must kill Beelzebub,” Cas said.

                Dean’s reaction was instantaneous. “No fucking way. We are not having this argument again!”

                “My life is not worth the lives of the entire Earthly population.”

                “We’ll find another way,” Dean’s voice bordered on screaming. “Goddamnit, Cas, why are you so insistent on getting yourself killed? Are you suicidal?”

                “No, I’m merely being logical. You know it’s true, Dean.”

                “Dean’s right,” Sam interjected. “You’re our friend. You helped save the World—“

                “Then help me save it again.”

                Dean scoffed and rubbed his mouth.

                “You don’t deserve to die like that,” Sam said.

                “It’s not about _deserving_ anything. It’s about finishing the job.”

                God, and Dean thought arguing with Sam was miserable. Cas was just so logical in his thinking. Everything was like a math equation.

                But the thing was, you couldn’t quantify a single person’s life and give it a numeric value. Some people _were_ worth more than others. Dean’s family, Sam and Cas and Bobby, they were worth more to him than any stranger that may be wherever in the entire world. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. But he couldn’t sacrifice any one of them to save a person he didn’t know. He didn’t know them. They weren’t anything to him.

                But that was dangerous thinking, because there was a line, but where did it appear? Dean would let one stranger die to save his family. How many would he let die until he had to put his foot down and give up one of the few people he cared about? Ten? Twenty? One hundred? One thousand? Would he ever put his foot down and do what needed to be done, or would he forever be selfish and hang on to those he loved like they were a life preserver and he was caught in the ocean?

                “We’re not killing Beelzebub until we know how to save you,” Dean said seriously, meaning every word with hellish ferocity.

                Cas chortled. Dean hated the sound. No such sound should ever come out of Cas’s mouth, ever. It gave Dean goosebumps, made him think of a World that didn’t happen, but that could’ve.

                “Dean,” Cas said. The apathy in Cas’s voice was laden. “There’s no saving me. Beelzebub and I. We’re _mated_. Bonded. My grace and his.” With the wall being broke, Gabriel’s little ‘fix-it’ broke too. Cas could hear Beelzebub’s name without keeling over. It was a sign, but Cas wasn’t seeing it. Instead, Cas raised a hand and flexed his fingers one by one. “He’s in me and I’m in him. And there’s no breaking a mating bond. It’s eternal.”

                Dean didn’t think. The words tumbled out of his mouth, “What if you mated with someone else?”

                Both Sam and Cas looked at Dean in confusion.

                Dean swallowed. “Does it stop you from ever mating to someone else?”

                “What?” Cas said, eyes shifting away from Dean and to the bedspread. A slight flush crept up Cas’s cheek. “What are you—“

                “Dean?” Sam asked.

                “There has to be something we can do, I know there is, Cas. You say a mating bond can’t ever be broken? Has anyone ever even tried?”

                Cas stiffened. His fingers curled into the blanket and he still wouldn’t meet Dean’s eye. “I. . .There’s no protocol for such a thing.”

                “Well, then we’ve got to write it, don’t we? Huh, just like we re-wrote our own ending. What do you say?”

                “Dean, what are you even saying?” Sam asked.

                Dean swallowed. His mind was racing a mile a minute. This time, he knew what he was going to say. The words sat perched on his tongue, but his heart and his brain were on two different circuits, because he knew what he was going to say, but his brain couldn’t believe it.

                “Me,” Dean said breathlessly. “Mate with me.”

.

.

.

                Cas’s eyes were wide and almost fearful. Sam’s were filled to the brim with shock. Dean still couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

                “Uh,” Dean said. He could feel the tips of his ears burning. He felt like a freaking teenager that just got pantsed in the middle of the school hallway, in front of his crush. God, he’d never been this embarrassed before. “I. . .”

                “Should I,” Sam said, backing away a step. “Leave you two alone, or. . .?”

                There was nowhere for Sam to go, not with the storm still raging outside, not with Gabriel having gone who-knows-where and Dean wished Sam would have left with the arch-douche of Bel-Air. The embarrassment wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d just stuck his foot in his mouth around Cas.

                “That’s a generous offer, Dean,” Cas said. “But I won’t ask that of you.”

                “I’m offering,” Dean said. “I’m—“

                “You, you don’t know what you’re offering. Mating bonds are. . . your soul, your essence. It won’t be your own anymore. And, anyway, there’s no telling if that would even work.”

                “We have to try,” Dean said. “It’s, it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

                “Um,” Sam said, stepping away further.

                “You want to be mated to me?” Cas asked.

                Dean wanted to save Cas. He didn’t know exactly what the term ‘mate’ meant to angels, but if it meant what Dean thought it meant, he’d wanted that too. With Cas. He didn’t know when exactly that was something he started to want. He decided a long time ago that he, and the life he lived, weren’t made for that sort of relationship. The one time he tried to make it work, the woman broke his heart. Lisa. . . Lisa had been _fun_. She’d been _great_ , actually, and fun. But she wasn’t anything serious. Just another celebratory fling after a job well done and then she was just an image in his rearview and a memory.

                And okay, there’d been a guy here and there occasionally, despite his preference for women. But that was nothing serious, either.  Sometimes there weren’t any interested women around. Sometimes there was a man that was just hot and Dean wanted to go with him.

                But it was never anything more than a one-time thing. Dean never let himself get that invested.

                Cas. . .

                Cas wasn’t human. He didn’t process emotions the same way humans did. And Cas was still probably mourning the life in Heaven he’d lost. It’d only been a year since Cas turned his back on everything he’d ever known. The world as he knew it for thousands and thousands of years, and he’d only been in Dean’s, completely, for one year. Dean shouldn’t feel this way about Cas. He didn’t deserve to feel this way.

                But he did.

                Cas was strong and independent, resilient and pigheaded. He was intelligent yet naïve, brutal yet sweet. He was an angel, and Dean—

                Dean carried Hell in his veins. He didn’t deserve to have Cas in such a way. He didn’t want to destroy this one good thing he had, his friendship with Cas. They were brought together in impossible circumstances, and stayed together in impossible circumstances. Dean was born into this hunting life and he would die in it. That was just how it was for all hunters. No one got out of the life. No one got to put in their fifty years and retire with a pension, to die peacefully and naturally at the ripe age of seventy-five. Dean could never hope to achieve any sense of “normalcy”.

                A relationship with Cas would be the closest he could ever get. And if Dean screwed it up. . .

                But he _wanted_ it. He _wanted_ to try.

                “It wouldn’t work, Dean,” Cas said. “It can’t work.”

                “Why not?”

                “You have a soul. I have grace. They’re similar, but not the same. At best, nothing happens, and at worst, I could fry you from the inside out.”

                “I trust you,” Dean said.

                Cas chortled.

                “Dean,” Sam said impatiently.

                “It has nothing to do with trust,” Cas said. “It’s nothing to do with me letting or not letting it happen. It is something that could happen, and it’ll be outside our control.”

                Dean paid attention to every word that came out of Cas’s mouth. Cas hadn’t yet said “No” because he wasn’t interested. He was trying to make excuses out of Dean’s safety.

                “Dean, do you even know what you’re asking of him?” Sam snapped.

                Dean curled his hand into a fist. His nails bit into the meat of his palm. Cas remembered everything now. Every detail.

                His first and only experience with sex had been a violation. And here Dean was, asking something momentous of him. It was like asking someone who’d been bitten by every dog they’d ever come across to pet another dog.

                But was it worth dying for?

                “I know,” Dean forced out. He knew what he was asking. He knew.

                He also knew he had to try. If there was anything he could do that might save Cas, if there was anything within his power, he had to try. If there was something he could do to help, and he didn’t, then he would be partly responsible for the outcome.

                He looked Cas in the eye. Somehow, he’d always been able to have an entire conversation with Cas with just his eyes. Even back to the first time they’d met, Dean had done it. Cas’s gaze was always so serious and studious—like he was peeling Dean apart skin to soul, scrutinizing every cell that ran through Dean’s body. Dean couldn’t lie to Cas. He couldn’t put on a façade and fool Cas. Cas had seen right through Dean’s bravado and machismo immediately. The front he’d crafted for the entirety of his life shattered, completely, the moment Castiel blew open those barn doors two years ago.

                “Okay,” Cas said quietly. “Okay, Dean.”

                “Wait, what?” Sam said.

                “You sure?” Dean said.

                “Yes,” Cas said, almost breathless.

                Sam turned around, running his fingers through his hair, exhaling deeply.

                “Sam?” Cas said, turning his head. He stared at the back of Sam’s head. Dean’s was compelled to follow.

                Sam’s silence began to worry Dean. Dean’s heart clenched tight in his chest. Sam wasn’t one of those people, was he? Dean would never have pinned Sam for a person like that. Never. Sam ran away to California, for Hell’s sake. He was going to be a lawyer.

                Dean gulped. “Sam?”

                Sam turned around. There wasn’t hatred, or scorn, or disgust in his eyes. “I care about you guys,” Sam said. “I just. . .I don’t want you guys to mess up what you have with each other. If you do this thing and it goes wrong. . .”

                Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, despite Sam only verbalizing Dean’s own fears. What he had with Cas was precious enough as it was—he’d keep things how they were right now than try for something more and ruin everything.

                But they didn’t have that luxury. The world was in danger again, and Dean was selfish. He would not let Cas sacrifice himself. He gave up his brother once to save the world and miraculously was given another chance.

                Cas gave him that chance.

                It would be the ultimate of dick moves to repay Cas for saving Sam by killing him.

                And, even if they tried this thing. Tried to make more out of what they already had and it didn’t work, at least Cas would still be alive.

                “I don’t think that’s a concern,” Cas said.

                Cas wanted it too.

                The rain still poured. Dean couldn’t stop thinking of tornados.

                Sam rubbed at his mouth. “I guess I should give you time some alone time, huh.”

                “Call Gabriel,” Dean said. “Have him take you to Costa Rica or Port Aransas or wherever he goes. You’re up to date on your shots, right?”

                Sam huffed. He folded his hands awkwardly and looked up to the ceiling. “Uh, Gabriel? It’s Sam Winchester. Please come back to the motel. I need—“

                “What do you need?” Gabriel, as angels do, appeared out of nowhere. Castiel’s eyes immediately locked onto the carpet by Dean’s feet. Dean cleared his throat. Awkwardness fell like a blanket.

                “I need you to take me far away,” Sam said.

                Gabriel’s brow furrowed. He looked scornfully between Dean and the back of Cas’s head. Dean could see Gabriel put the puzzle pieces together. God, he felt like such a teenager—like he was a kid on his first date meeting the parents.

                “Oh, hell no,” Gabriel said, stepping forward. “Hell no!”

                Dean suddenly had a pissed off archangel in his face.

                “Whatever the hell you’re thinking, stop,” Gabriel said.

                “Gabriel,” Castiel growled.

                Dean watched the confrontation out of the corner of his eye. Again, he felt like he was witnessing something he had no right to. There was still so much anger between the two of them, and Gabriel had done horrible things to Castiel. Having Castiel’s memories screwed around with was, to Dean, as big a violation as the rape. Such a significant portion of Cas’s past had only been available to him recently.

                And of course, Cas had been captured by his assailant just a short time after learning about his past. They’d have to talk about that eventually. Eventually.

                “Cassie,” Gabriel said, matching Cas’s tone to the decibel. For all that the two of them looked like regular people, this was one of those moments that struck Dean like a sledgehammer to the face. They were angels, beings more powerful than Dean could comprehend. They were like the storms outside.

                “Take Sam somewhere private, please,” Cas said.

                “Y’know, you’re supposed to put a sock on the doorknob, right?”

                Cas did his typical Confused Castiel face, and the only reason Dean didn’t dare think of it as adorable was the tension in the air.

                Gabriel sighed in exasperation. “What do you think you’re doing?”

                “We’re trying,” Cas said.

                “You know you can’t break a mating bond, baby bro.” Gabriel at least had the decency to sound guilty.

                “Has anyone ever tried?” Cas intoned.  Dean felt a small flare of pride to hear Cas mimic his own words.

                Gabriel angry gaze turned to Dean. Dean swallowed his anxiety and forced himself to sit up straighter. “I don’t like you,” he said. “Let’s make that clear.”

                “Great,” Dean said, shrugging. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

                “Castiel’s a big boy now. And hey. I guess I’d be a hypocrite if I started vetting Cas’s hookups. I mean, we’ve all been there, huh?” Gabriel looked at Dean and then at Sam. He laughed humorlessly. “I don’t like it. I think you guys are stupid for even trying. But, hey. It’s the end of the world, ain’t it? At least if you look outside. So, I’ll let you two have your fun. I’ll take Mr. Third Wheel over there to Disneyland or something.”

                Gabriel reached out and patted Dean on the shoulder. “Don’t knock him up.”

                Gabriel stood straight and motioned for Sam to come to him.

                “Wait,” Dean said, head swiveling between Cas and Gabriel. “Wait, that can’t happen, can it?”

                Gabriel clicked his tongue. “I’ll leave the birds and bees talk to you.” His hand was tight on Sam’s shoulder and then the two of them were gone.

                                                                                                NEXT CHAPTER

 

                “Um,” Dean said. He turned his body towards Cas. Their knees brushed. “Just to clarify…”

                Castiel shook his head. “No, Dean,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about ‘knocking me up’.” Cas even used finger quotes. Dean huffed in laughter. God, he loved this dork.

                He _loved_ this dork.

                Then Cas’s eyes dropped down onto the ugly comforter. His fingers curled into the fabric.

                “So,” Dean coughed into his hand. “Do you have. . . questions?”

                “I. . .”

                “We’ll take it slow,” Dean said. “As slow as you want. And, and you can back out anytime you want, okay? If you change your mind, if you don’t want to do it anymore, just, just say so, okay?”

                Cas nodded. His fingers reached to undo his tie.

                “I’ll do that,” Dean said. He leaned forward, his wrist brushing against Cas’s. He worked at the knot of Cas’s tie. It came apart easily, with the way the angel kept the thing half-done anyway. Dean slipped it off of Cas’s neck and dropped it to the floor. Then he worked at pushing the trench coat off. Cas straightened his arms behind his back and Dean pushed it past his elbows, his wrists, and it slide off his hands and dropped gracefully to the ground.

                Castiel was still clothed in the suit jacket and dress shirt, more layers than any sane person should ever wear, but as far as Dean was concerned, Cas was half naked in front of him. Every interaction with Cas was like this, Dean thought. Always having to peel away layers, always needing to search past the façade, to see the real Castiel. Castiel always had walls up, always kept his face impassive. It was a puzzle trying to figure out what Cas might be thinking or feeling at any given time, and somedays, Dean felt like he didn’t know the guy at all.

                Because Cas was stoic and duty-bound. He was given a mission and didn’t rest until the mission was completed. He could be impatient and exasperated when put in an unfamiliar situation—like having to navigate humanity, which was full of traditions and colloquiums he didn’t understand. He was so brave it bordered on stupidity and he never let his own pain known.

                But he was also quiet and introspective. And so gentle. Dean thought of every time Cas’s fingers brushed against his skin to heal a wound and the feel of icy cold grace that accompanied it. Cas, for all that he didn’t understand humanity, loved it. Loved it so much he turned his back on Heaven to join Dean and Sam down here in the dirt and blood.

                Somedays, Dean thought he had Cas figured out, had him stripped down to his core, and somedays, it was like they were still strangers bordering on enemies.

                Cas’s eyes were looking at him steadily, carefully. Dean licked his lips. He felt like he was treading water. He didn’t know why his mouth was so dry and his hands so unsteady. Sex was the one thing Dean had never been wary of. Without wanting to come off as vain, he knew he was attractive and upped the suavity to lure women in—most days it just took a half smile and a wink and then he was making the beast with two backs in a seedy motel, with a woman he wouldn’t ever speak to again.

                This wasn’t sex, though.

                Not just sex, at least.

                Dean’s hands worked at the buttons on Cas’s dress shirt. His fingers felt too fat to work at them properly. It was like he lost all dexterity. And Cas kept staring at him, like a drowning man looks to the surface.  His eyes slipped down eventually and watched Dean’s fingers.

                “Do I. . .?” he asked softly, reaching for Dean’s shoulder. He pushed the jacket down Dean’s shoulders in the same manner.

                It all happened so slowly. Normally, when found in such situations, it was quick. Clothes were off within just a few seconds, taken off in one fast, fluid motion, but here, everything was so careful. So delicate.

                Dean continued working at the buttons, revealing the skin of Cas’s chest. Dean expected there to be an awful scar from when Cas carved that banishing sigil into his chest, but there was nothing there. The skin was smooth and unblemished, no evidence of that trauma. Dean’s hands trailed lightly down Cas’s chest. Cas had slipped off Dean’s outer jacket, and now was pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt.

                Dean helped Cas pull the t-shirt over his head. The chill of the motel hit him, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin.

                “Dean?”

                Dean swallowed. A flash of lightning illuminated the room, exaggerating the lines on Cas’s face, and Dean wondered, how could an immortal creature look so tired?

                “I, I’m still not sure this won’t hurt you.”

                “You won’t hurt me.”

                “I don’t _want_ to hurt you. But, but grace and souls are volatile and mixing them. . . it. . .it can be like spraying gasoline on a fire.”

                “You won’t hurt me,” Dean said. He knew it deep in his heart and soul. Cas would never hurt him.

                Castiel exhaled, closing his eyes shut. He licked his lips. His hand trailed up Dean’s arm until it rested on the handprint scar. The scar had faded with age—it wasn’t the angry, bright red it had been at first. Now, it was more subdued, closer in color to Dean’s original tone. It was still raised up. Dean sometimes traced the shape of it with his other hand, on nights when he couldn’t sleep. He would think of what the scar meant. What it represented. Dean would fit his own hand against the scar, like a child fitting their hand against a parent’s. Dean’s hand felt miniscule compared to the scar, which didn’t make sense, because Dean was taller and larger than Castiel. Castiel’s hands weren’t large enough to fit that scar.

                But that was before Castiel had a vessel. Castiel was in his true form when he rescued Dean from hell. A form that was one thousand feet tall, with like, a bajilion eyes and wings, that Dean could never see without going blind, and a voice Dean couldn’t hear without his brain melting out his ears. Dean knew fate hated him, but it had never been so cruel before. He loved Cas, but he would never be able to see the true Castiel.

                But when Cas put his hand over that handprint scar, it fit perfectly. Cas’s fingers uncurled slowly as they met up with the matching point on the scar. So slowly. And Cas looked at Dean with that ever studious gaze.

                A warmth spread through Dean, from head to the tips of his toes. His insides tickled and he couldn’t help but giggle.

                “What—what are you doing?”

                “My grace,” Castiel began slowly. He gently tightened his grip on Dean’s bicep. “There’s always been a piece of it inside of you, ever since I raised you. It was necessary to put your body together. It’s the glue, so to speak. That piece is reacting to the rest of it.”

                Cas’s voice was always low, but volume wise, it typically stayed normal. As Cas spoke now, he spoke quietly. So soft, Dean had to strain to hear him.

                “What do I have to do, Cas?” Dean whispered against Cas’s ear.

                Cas shuddered.

                “You don’t have to do this,” Dean said. “I won’t make you do this.”

                Cas chortled and turned his face towards the ground. “That’s very kind of you, Dean. But I’m afraid neither of us have a choice in the matter.”

                Dean frowned. “What are you talking about? ‘Course we have a choice.”

                “Not if we want a chance of defeating Beelzebub.”

                Dean hesitantly reached out and brushed a finger across Cas’s cheekbone. This was a warrior of God before him—one who’s lived for as long as the Earth’s been spinning, seen things Dean can’t even comprehend, been a part of thousands of heavenly battles. And still chose _this_ over everything else. Earth over Heaven. People over Angels. Dean over God.

He’s probably never been touched with good intentions, Dean thought sadly.  Every touch always had some malicious intent behind it, even if it never left behind blood or bruises.

Dean was jittery. Nervous. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Cas’s. He kept it soft and gentle, chaste, like he was an awkward middle schooler having his first kiss. And yet, Dean had never had a kiss so intimate. So precious. He could taste the love.

 Just as it wasn’t right to simply rip off clothes and throw them to the floor, it wasn’t right to just throw Cas into a sensual, heated kiss. Cas’s lips were softer than they looked. He didn’t react at first, remained still as a statue, until a few seconds in. Then he relaxed, just a bit, and leaned forward to meet Dean.

All in all, it lasted only a few moments. Dean broke the kiss first, pulling back slowly.

“You don’t. . .you don’t have to do this just to defeat Beelzebub,” Dean whispered. “If you don’t want this, just say so.”

“I do want it,” Cas answered quickly. “I shouldn’t. Angels aren’t supposed to want. But I want this, with you.”

                                                            **  
**

“Good,” Dean said, wincing. God, when did he become a teenage girl? “Look, we’ll take it super slow, okay? I have stuff in my bag. Let me grab it.” Heat flushed to Dean’s face. “Uh. Do I need to worry about protection?”

Cas squinted. “We’re well protected, Dean. Much as I loathe to admit it, Gabriel did a good job on the sigils. Plus I have my angel blade.”

Dean had to restrain from slapping his hand against his face.

                “That’s not what I meant, Cas. I mean…do we have to worry about STDs? I uh…well, it’s been a while since I last got checked out,” Dean admitted in hushed embarrassment. He tried to be careful about that sort of stuff. But condoms weren’t one-hundred percent effective and Dean didn’t always bother with stopping at the nearest clinic the morning after.

                “Oh,” Cas said softly, realization setting in. He shook his head. “You needn’t worry about that, Dean. If you did have a disease, I would know, and would have cured it.”

                Dean gave a half-crooked smile. “Cool,” he said. “Uh, but we still need the other stuff, trust me.”

                Dean got off the bed quickly and dug through his duffel. The bottle of lubricant was half-full, the sort that warmed up on contact with skin. Dean was aware of Cas’s eyes burning into his back.

                “C’mon,” Dean said, climbing back on the bed. “Pants, off.”

                Cas worried his lip and began to fumble with his belt. Dean worked at his own. Dean was still only semi-aroused, which would not work.

                He threw his jeans and boxers onto the ground in messy pile. Cas’s soon followed. Dean waited with bated breath, nervousness coursing through his blood. It took him several long, aching seconds before he found the courage to look at Castiel again.

                It felt objectifying to look at Cas, eyes drawn to the space between his legs. Dean never really gave much thought to that part of anyone’s anatomy. It was all more or less the same, no matter where Dean was. Dicks were dicks, vaginas were vaginas.

                Still, Dean could appreciate what Cas had to offer. Not so much for what Cas had, but because it was _Cas._

                Dean wasn’t used to seeing Cas nervous. He didn’t think Cas was capable of being nervous. Cas was always so blunt and straightforward. Even when Cas was being blatantly mocked, he never reacted. Sometimes Dean wondered if it was less an issue of Cas not caring, or more because Cas truly didn’t understand. He always leaned towards the former, because the latter was too awful to think about, and because Cas was so strong and resilient and ancient, that it simply didn’t matter to him if he was being made fun of. Dean, unfortunately, had done that before. And not the simple teasing he did with Sam and Bobby, but with the intention of hurting.

                And Cas always remained stiff as stone. Never rose to Dean’s bait.

                Cas’s looked at the bottle of lubrication in Dean’s hand.

                “Um,” Dean said, fiddling with the top. He got a bit on his fingertips. The warming sensation began instantaneously. It made Dean’s skin buzz.

                “I’m aware of the mechanics of this sort of intercourse,” Cas said slowly. “But I suppose it’s different in practice.”

                Dean laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, maybe just a little.” He scooted forward on his knees. His arousal was beginning to grow. “Sorry to sully you further with all this sexual deviance.”

                “Humans are so strange sometimes,” Cas said with a sign. At Dean’s gesture, he laid down on his back. Dean grabbed a pillow and put it at the small of Cas’s back. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand your social conventions.”

                “You and me both,” Dean said, squirting the lubricant into his palm. “But, uh, what are you talking about?”

                “Your culture specifically is so averse to sex, especially that of a homosexual nature.”

                Dean’s throat swelled in discomfort. His fingers trailed behind Cas, finding their way to the right spot.

                “Jonathan and David were lovers, did you know that Dean?”

                “Good for them,” Dean said. Honestly, he wasn’t quite sure who Cas was referring to. He didn’t pay that much attention to Pastor Jim’s sermons the few times Dad dropped them off with him.

                Castiel flinched when a single finger pressed in.

                “You okay?” Dean murmured.

                Cas nodded. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just strange.”

                Dean’s eyes widened and he exhaled. “Oh, buddy, it’s about to get a lot stranger.”

                Dean was gentle with every touch. He withdrew his finger and added more lube. There was no such thing as too much. He carefully pushed two fingers in this time. Cas’s hand found its way to Dean’s scar again.

                “So, un,” Dean licked his lips. “Tell me about those guys. Jonathan and David.”

                “They were supposed to be enemies,” Cas said, eyes screwed shut. “Jonathan was the son of the King Saul. David was the son of Jesse, rival to the throne. They were friends, though. And Saul’s reign was threatened by David and he wanted him dead. Jonathan was suspicious of his father and had David hide away for two days, until he was certain that Saul would kill David given the chance. So, Jonathan found David and told him he had to go away. He sent David far away for his safety. They never saw one another again in life, but their love was so powerful, they were bonded by God, and so are their descendants. Jonathan died and David became king, and he watched over Jonathan’s son for the rest of his life.”

                Dean had been sliding his fingers in and out the entire time Cas spoke, entranced by the rumble of Cas’s voice. Man, maybe he would have paid more attention in Sunday School if they’d spoken like Cas.

                “That’s…that’s actually sort of sad,” Dean said. “They loved each other and they couldn’t even see one another?”

                “Physicality is only temporary,” Cas said. His breathing had become erratic. Heavy, deep pants, His hands clenched into the bedsheets. “Their souls were bonded. Love is transcendental, Dean.” Cas’s eyes opened a crack—Dean could see the arousal budding in Cas’s pupils and body, as he began to grow erect. “What’s a few mortal years of loneliness when there is eternity in Heaven?”

                Dean swallowed. He supposed he couldn’t argue with that.

                Three fingers now. Sweat was beading on Dean’s brow.

                Dean took every step slow, moving inch by inch, as skin slid against skin, entering, exiting, slowly. The storm outside became background noise as Dean focused all his attention on Castiel. He studied every inch of the body that now belonged to Cas. He wanted to worship it appropriately.

                “What do we have to do?” Dean whispered as they progressed, as arousal began to overtake Dean’s brains and his bodily need began to ache. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

                Cas’s hand pressed hard against Dean’s scar once more. Cas wrapped his fingers around Dean’s bicep and squeezed firmly. The scar grew warm—Dean could feel the heat rising from the depths of his veins up to the top of the skin.

                “Feel that?” Cas whispered, barely audible.

                Dean nodded. He wet his lips. It was so hot, it was almost burning.

                “That’s my grace,” Cas said. “I need you to put all your focus on that. Every ounce of it, Dean.”

                Cas’s voice was always void of levity, even mundane items treated as a dire situation. Most of the time, Dean could roll his eyes and brush off the severity of the situation with a crude joke and a slap on the back. Not this time. The severity in Cas’s voice was leaded, heavy, and that, along with the emotionality in his eyes and their current physical predicament—Dean swallowed.

                He exhaled and closed his eyes tight. His scar burned. Cas’s grip was too tight, Dean was sure it would bruise. Dean clenched his teeth together and pushed away all other thoughts, all concerns. He focused solely on the burning sensation that was now running down his arm to the very tips of his fingers. It migrated up his shoulder and around his neck. Soon, he was burning all over, his skin hot to the touch and Dean wanted to cry out in pain, but he resisted, nearly biting through his lip in the effort.

                Cas’s grace, Cas’s grace.

                And not just Cas’s grace, but Cas. Everything he was. This celestial ball, this ancient thing, lightning in a botte that somehow chose him, chose to have this with him.

                It was so hot. It began to permeate through the layers of Dean’s skin, all the way to the bone. He felt like he was burning inside out, and it _hurt._ It hurt so bad, Dean wasn’t sure how he abstained from screaming, but maybe he was in too much pain to even scream. He had to push away those thoughts though, he couldn’t even focus on the pain, just on Cas’s grace

                A low whining noise emitted in the air, louder than the thunder outside. It resonated in Dean’s skull, bouncing between the synapses of his brain. A horrible pressure pounded behind Dean’s eyes. Pressure built in his gut, he was close, so close, he could feel Cas’s erection pressing against his stomach as well, could feel Cas was close too.

                It hurt so bad it hurt so it hurt so bad so bad. Cas’s grip never loosened, in fact, it only seemed to get stronger, tighter, and Cas had the strength to break Dean’s arm like a toothpick with just careless force how had the bone not shattered yet the pressure behind his eyes was worse and worse his eyes were going to pop out of his skull the screeching noise was all around him he couldn’t hear he was deaf and blind whiteness shrouding him all around there was nothing nothing but Cas’s grace—

                They climaxed together, Dean burying his face in the crook of Cas’s neck as his body was wracked with euphoric shudders, his tense muscles uncoiling all at once.

                Dean whited out.

.

.

.

 

                Dean came to slowly. He felt like he’d been hit by a Mack truck—and he had enough experience to know _exactly_ how that felt. His mouth was dry. His eyes were crusted. He heard sounds, hushed whispers around him, but it was a struggle to make out what was being said.

                “…coming to,” said a voice. There was a hand pressed against his forehead. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. Deanarino. Dean, you awake?”

                Dean peeled his eyes open. Gabriel’s face was blurry at first. Orange blobs littered Dean’s vision, blipping in and out slowly, but eventually shapes began to take form.

                “Hey,” Gabriel said.

                “Dean!” Sam was at his side in an instant, his hand firm on Dean’s shoulder. Dean turned his head slowly like an automaton. “Thank God you’re okay. Are you hurting?”

                Dean licked his lips. He pinched his eyes shut. “What happened?” he muttered.

                Gabriel whistled. “You did it, kid,” he said. “I owe you an apology. I didn’t think you could do it, but, well…”

                Memories washed over Dean like a tsunami. His eyes shut open and he tried to throw himself into a sitting position, but he was effortlessly pinned down by Sam.

                “Cas!” Dean gasped, like a drowning man breaching the surface. “Where is he?”

                “I’m right here, Dean,” Cas’s voice came from the second bed. Dean turned his head. Cas was sitting up against the headboard, legs spread out in front of him. He was pale, dark bags under his eyes making the lack of color look worse than it probably was. He was in a dark blue bathrobe and it was only seeing that that Dean came to the realization that he was in one too. He sighed, internally grateful he was spared the humiliation of being naked in front of Gabriel. Sammy—not ideal, but it wouldn’t be mentally scarring. They’d grown up together in tight quarters their entire lives, they’d patched each other up after hunts gone awry. They’d seen each other naked dozens of times.

                Gabriel, though. . .

                Dean didn’t want to give the archangel any sort of ammunition.

                As Dean looked at Castiel, he felt something warm bloom in his chest. A nice warm, though. Right where his heart was.

                “We did it?” Dean said cautiously.

                Castiel looked at his fingertips. “The bond with Beelzebub is broken. Yours. . . superseded it.”

                “Cool,” Dean said, because he was at a loss for words. It was eerily quiet. The rain outside had stopped. Then, as realization sunk in, excitement radiated in Dean’s veins. “Wait, that’s great, then! We can kill him! Right? We can kill him and you’ll be okay?”

                Cas nodded.

                Dean struggled to push himself into a sitting position. Sam tried to stop him again, but Dean brushed him off. “Why do you guys look so down in the dumps? This is great!”

                “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Dean,” Gabriel said.

                Cas and Sam looked down to the floor.

                “Wh-why?” Dean said.

                Gabriel sighed. “Saving the world just got a lot more difficult. Lucifer walks the Earth.”


	8. Part VIII

                                                **PART VIII**

                 The words left Gabriel’s mouth, but it took a few seconds for Dean’s brain to process what he said.

                “No,” Dean said, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”

                Gabriel shrugged.

                Dean’s throat swelled. “When?”

                “Approximately sixteen hours ago.”

                Dean’s jaw dropped open. Gabriel shrugged again.

                “You’ve been out of it for about a day.”

                That probably explained the empty ache in Dean’s stomach, but now that also could be contributed to the news he just absorbed.

                “The Earth’s not up in flames,” Dean said slowly. Wasn’t Lucifer supposed to destroy the Earth? Bring fire and brimstone and all that? Toads dropping from the sky?

                “Lucifer can’t rule if Earth’s destroyed.”

                Dean worried his lip. His eyes bounced between Sam and Cas, both looking resigned and in pain.

                “What’s going on?” Dean tried to peer past Gabriel to see out the little window in the door, but it was blocked shut.

                “Nothing yet,” Gabriel said. “Lucifer’s probably weak. He wasn’t in the Cage that long this time around, even for Hell time. But he had company this go-round and wounds to lick. That’s what I figure, at least.”

                The heat in Dean’s chest dulled. He looked to Cas. Cas’s head was tilted backwards against the headboard, his eyes closed.

                “Well,” Dean said, swallowing. “What—what are we going to do?”

                “Our best?” Sam said. “I mean. We might really be screwed this time around. What can defeat Lucifer?”

                “There’s gotta be something,” Dean said. “Gabriel? You’re an archangel—isn’t there anything you can do?”

                Gabriel barked in mirthless laughter. “Um, you were there the first time I went up against him. You saw how that went.”

                “You’re saying you can’t do anything?”

                “I can get myself killed for realsies this time, if that’s what you want. Rest of the Universe will still be shit outta luck.”

                “Cas?” Dean turned to Cas. Cas had to know something—or at least, be somewhat optimistic? Dean realized that was a false hope the minute the thought finished processing. Cas was an optimist like Dean was a fitness guru.

                “I don’t know, Dean. We can’t re-open the Cage, not without the Horsemen’s rings. We can trap him in holy fire, but I don’t think it’ll kill him. Or hold him indefinitely, for that matter.”

                “There!” Dean tried to put some sort of enthusiasm into his voice. “We can trap him.”

                “Not permanently,” Cas said. “Probably only for a few minutes, at most, actually.”

                “That’s all we need is a few minutes.”

                “Dean?” Sam interjected. “That’s not all we need. We still need a way to kill him.”

                “We’ll figure something out.”

                “You keep saying that, Dean! Just saying doesn’t make it happen! And, I don’t know about everybody else, but I’d like a plan before we try to piss off Satan and Cas’s psycho stalker who—by the by—is gonna be super mega ultra pissed that you broke that bond.”

                “Speaking of,” Gabriel said. “We need to talk about that.”

                “Gabriel,” Cas said, exhaustion and desperation tearing at his voice, “do we have to do this now?”

                “We’re on the clock here, kiddo,” Gabriel said. “Don’t got that time. That was a bone head move you two did. This kind of bonding isn’t supposed to happen. Daddy’s gonna blow a fuse when he finds out.”

                Cas snorted. Heat bloomed again in Dean’s chest and there was a sense of anger. . .expect he wasn’t angry. He didn’t feel angry. It was just the sense of anger around him—he was disassociated from it, in a way. Dean turned to Cas. Was he feeling Cas’s anger?

                “You’ll have to excuse me for not particularly caring about what God may or may not think about our union.”

                Union? Dean thought, at the same time Sam began to laugh, “ _Union?_ You and Dean are married? I thought. . . you’re moving a little fast, don’t you think?”

                “Marriage is a human custom, but I suppose it’s the closest analogy to what Dean and I are.”

                “Sorry for not sending the invite, Sam,” Dean said, “but you probably didn’t want to be there anyway.”

                “Look,” Gabriel spat. “The world’s still spinning at the moment, so we need to get some things straight. Dean, as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, you can experience Cas’s feelings. Cas feels yours.”

                Dean looked at Cas, swallowing a lump in his throat. Cas’s jaw was tight, teeth clenched together, chin high—Dean had seen Cas take that pose often. He used to think it meant Cas was pissed off, or self-assured, proud. What Dean was seeing didn’t match up with what Dean was feeling, the buzzing sensation that surrounded him. There was a tinge of anger, but it was mixed in with fear, despondence, anxiety—it was an amalgamation of varying emotions, each one poignant in its own way, yet still mixed in with the others.

                Dean felt like a dick for all those times he thought of Cas as uncaring or unfeeling. Cas wasn’t. He was good at hiding his emotions. He may not wear his heart on his sleeve like Dean did, but Cas was far from unfeeling. Dean had known that. Not at first, but at least ever since Cas took the plunge from Heaven to help the Winchesters stop the Apocalypse.

                However, he sincerely underestimated the intensity that Cas felt.

                “It’ll be overwhelming at first,” Gabriel continued. “For both of you, I imagine. You’ll get used to it eventually. Maybe. If we don’t all die first.”

                “You’re cheerful,” Dean said.

                “Hey,” Gabriel said, spreading his arms out wide. “It’s the end of the world, bud. I say, have at it, you two. Go at it like bunnies for all I can.”

                “Ew,” Sam said.

                “We still got a world to save,” Dean said.

                Gabriel sighed and rolled his eyes. “I had a feeling you were going to say something asinine like that.”

                “Look, you said we broke Cas’s bond with Beetle Butt,” Dean began. “That means we can kill him, right?”

                “Yes, but now we’ve got the added problem of Lucifer.”

                “Which is what we have you for!”

                Gabriel scoffed. “Me? Kid, were you not paying attention last time I went up against my brother? He almost killed me! He would have too, if I weren’t smarter than him.”

                “He thinks he killed you, though,” Dean spat. “You’re the ace up our sleeve, our secret weapon.”

                “Dean,” Gabriel snapped. He didn’t scream, but his voice was strained, just barely reminiscent of John Winchester. Dean didn’t think Gabriel had ever used his real name sincerely. It was always some sort of stupidly hideous nickname, or overly sarcastic. Hearing Gabriel so serious, use his real name, made Dean’s jaw shut with an audible click. “It’s _over._ You did good. You guys had a good run. But it’s time to face the music. The world is ending. Why can’t we have fun while there’s still time?”

                Dean didn’t need to look at Cas. He could feel Cas’s feelings now. The anger had depleted out of him entirely and instead there was just an incredibly heavy sadness. It weighed down on Dean’s shoulders, pulled his heart right down to his stomach. If Dean let himself focus on it enough, really think of just that and nothing else, he would’ve cried from the intensity.

                “Gabriel,” Castiel said. “This is your chance to be a hero.”

                Gabriel spun around to face Cas. “Excuse me?”

                “You’re a coward,” Castiel spat. The anger flared briefly, palpitating, before the sadness returned, stronger than ever. “You’ve always run from battles, always. You always hide, fake your death. You neglect your duties. This is your chance to be a hero. It may be your last chance. I refuse to believe that the best option is just to sit here and let the world waste away. I’ve given up too much to not do anything. So have Sam and Dean.”

                Sam and Dean nodded their assent.

                Gabriel clicked his tongue. “Really? Well, if you have any ideas on how to take down Lucy, I’m all ears, baby bro!”

                “You’re an archangel. Your sword can kill him.”

                “Oh yeah, ‘cause that worked out so well for me the first time we tried it! You might as well get on your knees and try to ask Dad for help again, it’ll go just as well.”

                “You want to do good, Gabriel. I know you do.”

                Cas was imploring, righteous, and determined. Dean’s heart swelled and it wasn’t in his own pride or joy, but Cas’s. He was feeling Cas’s indignation, Cas’s chest fiery with passion. Dean couldn’t believe there’d ever been a time when he thought as Cas as unfeeling.

                “Cas, look, you’ve got spunk, you really do. And I like that about you. But you gotta face the facts, kiddo. There ain’t nothing we can do this time.”

                “I don’t believe that,” Cas said quietly. “If you’re not going to help us, then leave. We’ll figure out a way with or without you.”

                Gabriel’s jaw clenched tightly. His face burned red. Dean worried for a moment Gabriel might actually lash out and hurt them. He could do real damage to them even accidentally.

                But instead, Gabriel vanished, leaving behind the familiar flapping sound of large wings, and a small gust of wind blew through the cruddy motel room.

                Dean stared at the spot where Gabriel had just been. He looked between Sam and Cas.

                “What are we going to do now?” he asked. He was met with silence.

.

.

.

                “What’s wrong with you?” Lucifer asked, pacing around the empty field. Lightning flashed above him. In the darkness, Beelzebub could just barely make out the horns that rested atop Lucifer’s head. Lucifer was grinning; he stood tall, yet languidly, moved with an ease Beelzebub had never been able to discover while in a vessel.

                Beelzebub couldn’t form the words. They clogged in the back of his throat, tasting just barely like sulfur. He clenched his fist. Thunder rumbled above them, loud echoing.

                Lucifer scoffed. “C’mon. Really? You’re really still upset about that whole ‘mating’ thing? Brother, please.”

                “You don’t understand,” Beelzebub said. Anger coursed through blood red hot and powerful. He could barely contain it. He wanted to search for Castiel and destroy the creature that dared to step on their bond.

                But he couldn’t find Castiel. When he closed his eyes and sought out the angel, it was like he hit a brick wall. Something was hiding Castiel from him.

                Well, whatever it was, it wouldn’t be able to hide Castiel from him forever. Eventually—eventually, something would break and when it did, Beelzebub would find Castiel and he would reclaim what was his. And Castiel would fight be their side, his and Lucifer’s, like he should have from the beginning.

                But until then:

                “Castiel is my mate,” Beelzebub continued, looking Lucifer in the eye. It had been such a long time since he’d last seen his friend, and when Lucifer had appeared before him on the ground, visceral and solid, Beelzebub had greeted him with the warmth of friendship. But Lucifer had never understood the importance of his mating bond. Beelzebub wasn’t sure if he would ever understand it. “We are meant to be together, to sit beside you on the thrones of Hell, and someone has violated our bond. It shouldn’t be possible, brother. Mating bonds are infallible.”

                He had felt the moment the mating bond broke. It just snapped, like a rubber band with too much tension, and Beelzebub had felt like he’d been hit right in the chest. A hole was in his heart, a spot in what was left of his blackened, festered grace. It wasn’t possible. No mating bond had ever been broken before, not unless one of the parties within died. Mating bonds were designed by God to be permanent and without his, Beelzebub was barely clinging to his sanity.

                “Except for yours,” Lucifer said in a sing-song voice, clicking his tongue. “C’mon, man. You really upset about all this? Of Castiel? I don’t know what you see in him, frankly. Kid’s as fun as a wet paper bag and he’s got less personality than a rock.”

                Beelzebub stepped forward, within inches of Lucifer. Their noses nearly brushed. Lucifer grinned, his forked tongue just barely visible behind his sharp, fanged teeth. His tail stood tall, curling over one of his shoulders. His halo, battered and cracked, just barely glowed with a faint, dying, red light. Beelzebub was not afraid.

                “Don’t you speak of him like that,” Beelzebub said. “You’re my brother, and my friend. But I won’t stand for you to speak of Castiel like that.”

                Castiel was the light at the end of the dark, hellish tunnel, a rainstorm in the desert, the North Star in the middle of the woods.

                Lucifer snorted and shrugged. “Fine, whatever. We’ll get you your ‘mating bond’ back, if that’s what you really want. You do you, brother. As long as I get the Winchesters, I don’t really care what else happens, or who you bring along.”

                Beelzebub nodded. Yes, that was the plan. “And the person who dared to impose upon our bond?”

                Lucifer’s smile widened. He stepped back and began to circle Beelzebub. The clouds rumbled above him, lighting streaking across the sky. Something resembling sympathy flashed across Lucifer’s face. “You really don’t know, do you? Brother. If there’s anyone who would make a bond with Castiel, it’s Dean Winchester.”

                Beelzebub frowned. “The Michael Sword?”

                “Ding-ding-ding! We have a winner!”

                “Why him?”

                Lucifer clicked his tongue. “I mean, he did convince Castiel to fall from Heaven. And he somehow got the kid to join his side in the fight against me and Michael. I tried to get Castiel onto our side. I offered it to him. Kid turned me down flat.”

                The image of Dean Winchester came clear and vivid into Beelzebub’s mind. Clearly his influence on Castiel had been earlier and strong if Castiel had refused Lucifer’s offer. “Then I will enjoy watching the life drain from his eyes.”

                Lucifer whistled. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

                “And what of your vessel?”

                Lucifer’s eyes hardened. “Kill him too.”

                “But—“

                “But nothing,” Lucifer whispered. Thunder boomed in the distance. Torrential rain began to fall from the sky. “With Michael in the cage singing show tunes and—“ Lucifer inhaled deeply, a twisted smile forming on his face—“touching himself, he’s no threat to me. There’s no Battle Royale to be had, no grand destiny to enact. I don’t need to fight my brother. I don’t need Sam Winchester as my vessel. The Winchesters, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, as more trouble than they’re worth. I’d rather all of them dead. They’d be too much a nuisance in my new Earth.”

                “Of course, my lord,” Beelzebub said.

                “And find that dog of yours,” Lucifer said. “I like him.”

                “What are we going to do?”

                Lucifer spun around, arms outstretched, rain plastering his hair to his face. His eyes glowed bright red, wings spread high over his head in an arch.

                “We’re going to wait for the boys to find us. And once they’re dead, we’re going to take over this dump. I’ve got some killer redecorating ideas.”

.

.

.

                They packed their bags and got into the car in record speed. Sam’s worked on his laptop, searching for clues to Lucifer’s whereabouts on his phone, fat fingering buttons every two seconds and screaming in aggravation.

                Castiel was in the backseat, stiff and quiet. Dean’s eyes slid from the windshield to the rearview every few seconds to look at Cas.

                It was strange, being bonded. If Dean concentrated hard enough, he could feel Cas’s emotions. They were convoluted, wadded together tightly, like a ball made of different flavored gums. Cas wasn’t feeling just one particular emotion, but an amalgamation of them and it was difficult for Dean to pick apart their individual components. Anger, frustration, worry—and that was just the top half, the parts Dean could uncover and identify.

                Dean’s own thoughts were swimming. He and Cas had sex. They were mates in the eyes of Heaven and Hell. They had admitted their love for one another.

                What did they do now? Right now, they couldn’t worry about what-ifs and labels. Right now, they had to track down Lucifer and Beelzebub and try to save the world, again. They had nothing in their inventory nor knowledge with which they could try to kill Lucifer. But, with the mating bond broken now, they could safely kill Beelzebub and that was enough cause to motivate Dean to press the gas pedal harder. He imagined taking an angel blade and stabbing it in the fucker’s eye, twisting and turning. He would make the death as slow and painful as he could, draw it out, make the bastard scream, make him _beg_ for death. After what he did to Cas, after what the fucker put Cas through, Dean couldn’t imagine a scenario that would truly divulge justice, but Dean had to do something. Had to exact vengeance in some fashion.   

He wished Sam would hurry up and find something, somewhere for them to go. With Lucifer roaming the Earth once more, there wasn’t time for them to goof around. They needed to find where he was now, stop him before he hurt anyone.

                “I think I found something,” Sam said finally. “Got a major lightning storm near South Dakota, came out of nowhere. It doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up anytime soon, either.”

                “Sounds like our guy,” Dean said, glancing up in the rearview mirror briefly, long enough to catch a glimpse of Cas’s eyes.

                Dean still couldn’t believe how strongly Cas felt behind that angel stoicism. Determination, anger, apprehension, with just the barest taste of fear.

                Dean didn’t think Cas was capable of being afraid. He never showed any sign of it and always seemed to dive head first into danger, risking life and limb seemingly without consideration for his general well-being. Dean still remembered watching Cas carve that banishing sigil into his chest with a rusty box cutter, prepared to use the sigil on five angels and himself, not knowing if he would survive the aftermath, but preparing to die anyway.

                Dean was struck with the briefest hint of frustration from Cas.

                “Cas?” Dean asked.

                Cas was looking out the window with the same level of scrutiny that he tackled everything with.

                “I thought. . . I thought Gabriel would fight with us.”

                Dean shared a look with Sam. He and Sam had pretty much always worked together. Sure, there had been Sam’s Stanford Vacation and that time after Lucifer first rose where they worked separately for a while—but those had been brief stints from one another, relatively speaking. And even if they were pissed at one another, Dean knew Sam wasn’t hiding. Dean had a way to contact Sam. During their Lucifer break, Sam certainly wasn’t skirting his responsibilities. He’d still been hunting.

                Not like Gabriel, who dodged duty left and right and hid like a naughty child, and then tried to hide and run from his mistakes. The Winchester men had their fair share of screw ups. They weren’t perfect by any means. But they at least owned up to their mistakes and then did everything in their power to fix it.

                And Gabriel had seemed like the sort of proud son of a bitch that would be offended by Cas calling him out, and would stay and fight just out of spite to prove the accusations wrong. Dean would’ve be okay with that—he’d take Gabriel’s help no matter why the bastard was giving it. He was having a hard time accepting it, too, that Gabriel would just fly off again, hide. But—

                “You said it yourself,” Dean said, trying to muster up more confidence than he actually felt, “we don’t need him. Right? We did just fine without him the first time, we’ll figure something out again.”

                Cas frowned at him, eyebrows pinched together.

                “Dean, you can’t lie to me,” Cas said evenly. “I can tell.”

                Dean briefly remembered a conversation about “creepy mind reading.” Cas seemed to understand the concept of privacy after Dean explained and hadn’t done it since, not with anyone. But this wasn’t mind reading. Cas really was just feeling everything Dean felt. He couldn’t help it, either.

                Dean gnashed his teeth together. Sam was side-eyeing him now, suspicious and upset. Sometimes, it really sucked being the older brother, and having someone who looked up to you, who expected you to have all the answers in every situation. It made Dean feel bad for being scared. It made him feel inferior for being scared because it scared Sam. And he was supposed to take care of Sam.

                Dean swallowed.

                “Look,” he said, forcing his eyes to stay on the road. He could feel Sam’s eyes burning into him from the side and Cas from behind. “Okay, so we don’t have a plan. But when have we ever needed a plan? I don’t know about you nerds, but I do better just barging in guns blazing. Huh? Besides, this is Lucifer we’re going after! If we have a plan, chances are he’ll be ten steps ahead.”

                “Dean,” Sam said, slightly breathless. “You really don’t have a plan, do you?”

                Dean chewed on his lip. He drove for another several yards. Then, without warning, he pulled the car over to the shoulder and put it in park.

.

.

.

                “Crowley, get your ass up here,” Dean said, dusting off his hands. Dirt was smudged on his palms and jeans, sweat marring his brown. The devil’s trap was a bit sloppier than he would’ve liked, but they didn’t have time to strive for perfection. He backed out of the devil’s trap. Cas’s hand came up and gripped his shoulder tightly.

                The ground rattled briefly, like a mini earthquake.

                Cas’s hand squeezed his shoulder. Dean pretended to ignore it, in favor of focusing on Crowley’s very pissed off form, face so red smoke seemed to be curling out his ears.

                “ _What?_ ” Crowley snapped, voice rough and low.

                “We need your help,” Dean said, calmer than he felt.

                Crowley walked forward and toed the line of the devil’s trap. “You,” he whispered, “need _my_ help?”

                “Yes,” Cas said, tonelessly.

                Crowley’s eyes slide over to Cas. For the briefest moment, something in them changed. Dean saw it—a flash of pity, maybe? But it was quickly swallowed and replaced back by the fury.

                “So, what? You can just leave me tied to a bed post like an ex-lover to the mercy of a demon as ancient as time, and expect I’ll be all aboard the Winchester Express to Fuck-Over-Everyone town?”

                “I mean, your other option is to let Lucifer run around, killing people left and right till he takes over the world. And some of those people he’s going to kill are people you’ve made deals with, Crowley. Some of them are people who are going to eventually make deals,” Sam said. “I’m not an expert on Hell contracts, but you promise people ten years, right? That’s standard? So if they don’t get to live those ten years, you don’t get the soul.”

                Thank Sammy, Dean thought. The nerd and his lawyer speak.

                “Besides,” Dean interjected. “We’ve been over this. A world ruled by Lucifer is no good for you. He’ll put Hell out of business.”

                Crowley growled. “It was incredibly stupid for you stupid morons to call him, you stupid jackasses!”

                “’Cause your Beelzebub’s bitch?” Dean asked.

                Crowley’s eyes narrowed and a malicious smirked played on his lips. “I think you’ve got me confused with your angel.”

                “You shut the fuck up,” Dean spat, ripping out of Cas’s grip to toe the line, one hand going to his gun on his hip. It wouldn’t hurt Crowley, but it would make Dean feel a hell of a lot better to put a bullet between this asshole’s eye—

                “Dean,” Cas said. Dean’s hand hovered over the holster. “Dean, leave it.”

                Dean back up, anger still boiling under his skin. Cas was probably feeling it too, but he was better at hiding his emotions than Dean. From Cas, Dean felt annoyance directed all at Crowley, but nothing more than that.

                Crowley titled his head and looked at them suspiciously. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then stopped. He waited a moment, then opened his mouth again. “Without the choir boy’s mating bond, I assume there’s nothing stopping you from killing Beelzebub. He’ll be tough, no doubt, but a demon’s a demon. Especially one like him. Nothing particularly impressive about him except that he’s Lucifer’s biggest fanboy. Lucifer on the other hand is another matter altogether. There’s only one weapon in existence that can kill him.”

                “What!” Dean and Sam exclaimed.

                “There’s a weapon that can _kill_ him?” Dean yelled, his voice aching. “I thought—why didn’t you tell us this early?”

                “Because it wasn’t a weapon I could get,” Crowley spat. “It belonged to our other favorite Feathery Friend.”

                “Michael?” Cas asked.

                “The Lance of Michael. Crafted with the intent of killing Lucifer. He kept it on him at all times. The Cage, unfortunately, doesn’t allow weapons within. When Michael was tossed in like yesterday’s rubbish, the Lance was tossed off him, landing somewhere in Hell.”

                “And you have this Lance?” Cas asked cautiously.             

                Crowley’s mouth turned into a twisted smirk that sent chills down Dean’s spine. He knew Crowley was a demon, but sometimes he forgot that Crowley was a _demon_ , a rotted, decayed soul, falling apart at the seams, inherent, self-centered evil. Crowley hadn’t helped them through the first Apocalypse because it was the right thing to do; he did it to keep his Soul Buying business running. Dean didn’t want to work with him—but if he had something that could kill Lucifer. . .

                “Where is it?” Dean snapped.

                Crowley looked off to the side, far off in the distance. “It’s somewhere. I don’t like to carry it on my person, you see. It kills demons as well. Why on Earth would I carry around something that could kill me?”

                “Get it,” Sam snapped.

                “Uh, magic word?”

                “Now,” Sam, Dean, and Cas said at once.

                Crowley rolled his eyes. “You think someone somewhere along the way would have taught you blokes some manners. Especially you, Castiel. Did you skip out on the Heaven etiquette class?” He sighed and snapped his fingers, pointing down towards the devil’s trap. “Can’t go anywhere in this thing.”

                Dean stomped his foot in the dirt and dragged it across the line, breaking the circle. Crowley was gone at once, and Dean stared at the empty space the demon had just vacated.

                They waited for several minutes, no one saying a thing. Two minutes ticked by, then three, five. It was after eight minutes of awkward, suffocating silence until Sam cleared his throat.

                “We should. . . we should start heading towards South Dakota,” he said.

                Dean licked his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we’re still a long way from South Dakota, ain’t we?”

                “Approximately eight hundred miles,” Cas said.

                Right. Dean did the math in his head. Eight hundred miles would take at least twelve hours to cross, and that was without traffic and with Dean pushing Baby as fast as she could go. Since Gabriel seemed to have checked out if Hell, they couldn’t just take Angel Air towards South Dakota. Not when Cas still didn’t know if he could fly or not. Not when the risk of Cas not being able to still fly was too great. They were going to have to do this the old fashioned way.

                Dean sighed. “Okay, get in the car.” Dean rubbed at his eyes. He was incredibly tired, in spite of the fact that he’d been unconscious for several hours after he and Cas got Angel Married. It was still strange to think about. He and Cas were _bonded_. The angel equivalent to married, or whatever. God, his dad must be rolling in his grave.

                Dean swallowed. He didn’t care what his dad might have thought. He didn’t what the other hunters might think, or civilians, or law enforcement when Dean had to work with them. He loved Cas.

                He hoped the world would live long enough to let him book a honeymoon.

.

.

.

                Dean drove, despite his tiredness. He wasn’t the sort of person to fall asleep at the wheel. Driving was a coping mechanism for him, and he took it very seriously, especially when he had his brother and Cas in the car, their lives dependent on his performance.

                Still, when Crowley appeared in the backseat out of nowhere, Dean screamed and swerved right, almost directly into a tree. He narrowly missed by overcorrecting and dragging the Impala into the wrong lane. Thankfully, it was late at night and there weren’t many other cars out. Dean was able to steer back into the right lane, adrenaline pumping through his body, heart pounding in his ears.

                “Well,” Crowley said, clicking his tongue. “You sure know how to throw a welcome party, don’t you?”

                “Crowley!” Sam screamed.

                Cas shifted away from Crowley, closer to the door.

                “I got your magic shaft,” Crowley said.

                Cas’s eyes narrowed. “You said it was a lance.”

                Dean could feel Crowley’s glare burning into the back of his head. He looked at the demon in the rearview mirror, Crowley’s bitter annoyance plain on his face.

                “Didn’t marry him for the brains, I see,” Crowley said.

                “Shut the fuck up,” Dean snapped.

                Crowley raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Pull over,” he said.

                Dean was reluctant to take orders from Crowley, but with Lucifer in the wind, people endangered, he didn’t have much choice. He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road. Crowley teleported out of the car and Dean swore.

                “Well,” Dean said, slamming his door. “Where is it?”

                Crowley reached behind his back and pulled out what looked to Dean like a gigantic fishing spear. It was ginormous, at least five feet long, with a thin handle and an intricate spearhead.

                “Holy shit,” Dean said, looking at it. By looks alone, it sure was impressive.

                Crowley traced his fingertips along the handle. “Michael made this was his very own grace. Kills the bad angels instantly, and the good ones slowly. Though he made this for Lucifer specifically, he wanted the poor bastard to suffer.”

                “Where was this when we needed it?” Dean pouted.

                “On Michael’s person,” Crowley said. “It can kill anything, except for maybe God, so I’ve kept it locked away in a secret spot down in Hell. Took me some time to liberate it, but, ah, here we are.”

                Dean licked his lips in anticipation. Okay, he had to admit; it looked pretty cool. And to know that this could kill Lucifer—was made with that exact purpose in mind—made Dean as giddy as a school girl.

                “Can I hold it?” he asked, reaching out. Crowley eyed him wearily, before he reluctantly handed the weapon over. Dean grasped it. It was much lighter than it appeared, barely weighing anything at all. Dean ran his hands down the staff, gently traced his fingertips over the decorative spearhead.  He could feel the power that radiated in its core, an icy burning sensation that traveled up to his elbow.

                “Dean?” Sam asked tentatively.

                Dean was shaking in anticipation. “Sammy, we’re going to win this time. We’re going to kill the devil.”

                Dean looked between Sam and Cas. He could see their expressions slowly turn from disbelief, perhaps worry, to confident and determined.

                It didn’t last long. Sam’s phone shrieked, causing him and Dean to jerk in surprise. Dean dropped the Lance in response and Crowley cursed in a language Dean didn’t recognize.

                “You’ve got to be careful with that you Neanderthal—“

                “Sorry, sorry, geez,” Dean said, bending down to pick it up. He didn’t know why Crowley was getting his panties in a twist, the thing was fine, jeez—

                “We’ve gotta go,” Sam said, swallowing.

                “What’s happening?” Cas asked.

                “The storm’s getting worse, there are people stuck on their roofs and it doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up anytime soon. Shit, Dean, they’ve got the Interstate shut down. We’re not gonna be able to even cross state lines!”

                “Bobby!” Dean said. He swore. “You think Bobby’s okay?” He had the panic room to take shelter in. It was underground and made entirely of metal, it should protect him, but what if it didn’t?

                “Shit, shit, I’m trying to call him,” Sam said, tapping his foot.

                “Crowley,” Castiel began, “you have to take us to Lucifer’s location.”

                “You’re a bloody angel, why can’t you do it?”

                “I—“

                “I’ve aided you and your circus monkeys twice over now, put my arse on the line in front of the bloody devil and you want me to be a taxi service? No, no no no _no_ , not how that works, love.”

                Dean swallowed and glanced at Cas out of the corner of his eye. He could feel Cas’s emotions whirling: fury, loathing, anxiety. What did he say to Crowley? That Cas couldn’t fly? He didn’t want to say anything like that about Cas, not in front of Crowley of all people. He still could hear Cas’s confession to him, how he was afraid of trying to fly, afraid of not being able to do.

                If Crowley wasn’t going to help them, they had no choice but to try Cas, and pray to whatever higher power was out there that it would work.

                “Bobby,” Sam said, sighing in relief, “you’re okay, listen, there’s a giant storm—okay, okay, geez, you don’t have to yell. We’re handling it, but you gotta get somewhere safe, take shelter ASAP, okay?”

                “Cas,” Dean said turning towards the angel, reaching for his hand. He shifted the Lance into his far hand, holding it awkwardly, but it was very important that he could touch Castiel right now. “Cas, you gotta fly us,” he said.

                “Dean, I _can’t_ —“

                “Yes, you can—“

                “It’s too risky, I don’t know if I can, I don’t know if I’m able—“

                “I trust you—“

                “Trust,” Cas said with a bitter laugh, “isn’t going to keep your organs on the inside of your body if you’re wrong and I can’t fly. Dean, if I try to take you and Sam, and I’m not able to fly, you’ll be shredded in the ether, body and soul.”

                Sam had hung up the phone. He was staring at them, breathless. Crowley was too, and Dean wondered when his life became such a fucking soap opera. But he couldn’t focus on that right now. He squeezed Cas’s hand, ran his thumb over the back of Cas’s palm, and said with every ounce of sincerity he felt in his blood, “I trust you.”

                Cas breathed heavily. He gnawed on his lip.

                “Well,” Crowley said. “Fun as this has been, I’ve got places to be, souls to maim.” Crowley vanished.

                 
                “Cas, you can do this,” Dean said. Cas looked at him in disbelief and Dean wondered if Cas had ever been told anything like this in Heaven. Had ever been validated.

                Sam put a comforting hand on Cas’s shoulder. “I trust you,” he said. Dean broke away from Cas’s gaze just long enough to send Sam thanks with his. “We need you to take us there, to stop Lucifer and Beelzebub and save those people. Bobby’s okay for now, he’s got enough supplies to last him weeks down in the panic room, but there are other people who are depending on us, on you, to save them.”

                “I-I—“

                Dean squeezed Cas’s hand  tight as he could. With his second hand, he squeezed the Lance. “Feel for me,” he implored. “You can feel my feelings, right? Look at ‘em, and see that I’m not lying. I believe in you. I know you can do this.”

                Cas swallowed, but he stared at Dean with that same intensity he always had, and Dean did not look away. He held Cas’s gaze, unwavering, and for once didn’t feel uncomfortable, didn’t mind that Cas was stripping him down, skin to soul. He could feel Cas brush against the edge of his mind, gently prodding at bits here and there, and Dean focused every bit of concentration he could muster on how much he trusted Cas to do this. How much he believed in Cas. Cas was strong, and stubborn, and intelligent, and incredible, and _beautiful_ and an _angel._

                He was Dean’s angel.

                Dean didn’t believe in much, but he believed in Cas.

                “See?” Dean said. His voice had fallen to a whisper. “Did you see it?”

                Cas still maintained that bewildered expression. “How. . .”

                “You. Can. Do. This,” Dean spoke every word with reverence, pouring his entire soul into each syllable. Maybe Cas didn’t believe in himself at the moment, but Dean had enough faith for the both of them. He sent all that to Cas and hoped that Cas was drowning in it, that Cas really, really understood all Dean felt.

                Cas looked at the Lance, up and down. The wind was whistling louder, louder, it was almost deafening.

                Dean flicked a glance at Sam. Sam was still holding onto Cas’s shoulder.

                It all happened very fast.

                When he’d flown with Cas in the past, it had been disorientating, like he was stuck a merry-go-round at high speed, upside down. When they landed, Dean usually felt like his intestines were in his throat, but other than being backed up, nothing ever came of it.

                This flight wasn’t like the others. It was jerkier, zigzagging through the dark mass Dean couldn’t make out. It seemed to take longer too, and the sound of rushing water filled his ears.

                The next thing he was aware of, he had landed on solid ground, getting a mouthful of wet grass. Rain fell from the sky at an astonishing rate, landing heavy and hard on Dean’s back. Dean groaned and spat, blades of grass stuck on his tongue. He had to pull those off with his hands. It was hard to see past all the rain, but it looked they were in an abandoned baseball field. The diamond was just a few yards in front of Dean, the rain erasing the chalk lines. Layers and layers of mud were bubbling up and spilling over onto the grass.

 A lone oak tree stood right smack in the center. Dean could tell it was very old by the height. It had to have been nearly fifty feet tall, with branches hanging close to the ground, heavy with leaves. Up on the bark someone had carved in their initials. Dean recognized this place. It’s where Bobby took him sometimes, to play catch. Bobby’s home was just a few miles up the road, not even twenty minutes away. Dean swallowed. This place was lackluster in upkeep, but it had always been special to him regardless. Afternoons spent playing baseball and eating picnic lunches here were some of the few happy memoires he had from his childhood.

This was one of the places that would get washed away with rain if they didn’t stop Lucifer.

                He pushed himself up on his elbows. The Lance of Michael was right in front of him. Dean grabbed onto it and forced himself onto his wobbly feet.

                “Sam? Cas?” He had to scream to hear himself over the storm.

                “Over here,” Sam’s voice called. Dean turned to his right. Several feet away, Sam and Cas were sitting on the ground, Cas propped up against Sam.

                Dean ran. “He okay?”

                Cas’s face was pale, sickly contrasted by the blood pouring out his nose. “I’m fine,” Cas said, throat hoarser than normal.

                Dean couldn’t help but grin, giddy as a schoolgirl. “You did it, Cas! You flew!”

                Dean recognized the place they were at, and it was definitely not where they had just been. His clothes stuck to his skin with the rain. “I knew you could do it!”

                “Yes,” Cas said, nodding. “I didn’t think it would be possible, but. . .”

                “Guys,” Sam said. “Hate to interrupt, but uh.”

                “Right, right,” Dean said. “We gotta find the devil and his bitch, gank ‘em good.”

                “Oh, that won’t be necessary,” a new voice said. Dean froze stiff. Sam and Cas’s eyes moved to a spot behind Dean, eyes blown wide with fear. Sam was gripping onto Cas’s arm so tight, it would’ve been painful to anyone human. “I’m already here.”

                Dean turned around slowly, slowly, like his muscles were filled with molasses instead of blood.

                Lucifer was in front of him, wearing his old vessel. The sores looked worse than they had before, a pus like color coating the top. He smiled and crooked his head.

                The rain stopped.

                Lucifer’s eyes slide over to the Lance that Dean still had in a vise grip. He laughed. Dean chewed on his lip.

                “Now, where did a schmuck like you find a beauty like that?”

                “We had a little help,” Dean said. He maneuvered the Lance so that it was pointed towards Lucifer.

                Lucifer held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Ah, you must mean Beelzebub’s little pet. Yes, that makes sense. Knew the guy couldn’t be trusted as far as I can throw him. He’s got one of those faces.” Lucifer hummed.

                The night air was freezing. Dean’s wet clothes felt like they were freezing solid.

                He heard Sam and Cas slowly get to their feet.

                “Castiel!” Lucifer said. “Well, don’t you look good. Afterglow does wonders for your complexion, doesn’t it?”

                “Shut up,” Dean said, jerking the Lance forward.

                “And you found one that’ll defend your honor!” Lucifer continued. “Good for you, champ! You’re a bit out his league, though. Really settled, huh. But, boy Dean, do you sure reach high.”

                “We’re going to kill you,” Castiel said through gritted teeth. Dean could feel the fury brushing against his mind. It was almost overwhelming, almost made Dean’s blood boil. This had nothing on the anger Cas had against Gabriel—this was incredible, powerful, nearly enough to make Dean’s knees collapse from underneath him. He wasn’t sure how he kept standing. Adrenaline or stupidity.

                Lucifer smirked. He wagged his finger. “That’s where you’re wrong, kiddo. See uh, here’s how it’s gonna go.”

                Lucifer stepped forward. He walked until he was just a few inches away from the spearhead of the Lance. Lucifer looked far up, as if in contemplation. “I’m going to skin you alive and eat your soul, and when I’m done with the two of you mortal morons, I am going to take my rightful place as ruler of this hunk of rock, with Beelzebub at my side, and Castiel chained to my throne.”

                Dean lunged towards Lucifer with the Lance, focused right on the devil’s gut.

                Lucifer vanished from in front of him and Dean’s momentum took him forward and he tripped.

                Castiel’s blade fell from his sleeve and Sam raised his gun, cocked and loaded.

                Dean turned to look over his shoulder.

                “Whew, you guys are tenacious, I’ll give you that. I’m always up for a challenge.”

                Dean gripped onto the Lance again and forced himself to his feet.

                “Three against one just isn’t fair. Mind if I call some backup, fellas?” Lucifer snapped his fingers and then Dean was staring into the black eyes of Beelzebub. He smiled widely, revealing a row of perfectly white, shark like teeth.

                “You stole my mate from me,” Beelzebub growled. “For that, you must die.”

                Dean charged Beelzebub, but Beelzebub sidestepped him, moving impossibly fast. He gripped Dean’s shoulder. Dean jabbed him with the handle part of the Lance. Beelzebub screamed and released Dean.

                Dean ran as fast as he could, spinning round and round. Where was Lucifer? Where was he?

                “You boys are a lot more trouble than you’re worth.” Dean heard Lucifer, but he couldn’t see him, damn it, damn it, where had he gone?

                “I mean, owning your true vessel sounds great, but you’re so high maintenance. Besides, with no Mikey to fight, I don’t really need you guys. Sorry, Sam.”

                “Oh believe me,” Sam said, head turning in every direction as he searched for Lucifer too. “Not an ounce of lost love between us.”

                “Well now, that’s just mean.”

                Sam fired his gun. The gunshot reverberated in the air.

                Chaos ensued.

                Beelzebub’s hand was on Dean’s throat. Dean dropped the Lance out of instinct. Beelzebub raised Dean, so that his feet dangled uselessly off the ground. “Nobody touches what’s mine.”

                Cas crashed into Beelzebub with the speed of a freight train. Dean was dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes and Cas and Beelzebub went at it like a pair of feral cats. They wrestled, screaming things in Enochian that Dean couldn’t make out. His vision began to blur. He tasted blood. He had bitten his tongue when he fell.

                Sam’s sprinted past him, gun readying in his hand. “Get off him!” Sam screamed.

                Dean struggled to focus. But he could just barely make out the shapes of Beelzebub and Cas. Beelzebub had Cas pinned underneath, and his face was too close to Cas’s.

                “Castiel,” Beelzebub said. “Castiel, we can fix this. We can be together again.”

                Cas struck Beelzebub with a right hook that would send Mike Tyson flying hard on his ass. Beelzebub was knocked off Cas, and Cas soon had their positions reversed. His blade as pressed against Beelzebub’s throat. Dean pushed himself on his elbows and crawled towards the Lance.

                “I have a mate,” Castiel said.

                “Not so easy,” Lucifer appeared out of nowhere, right behind Cas. He grabbed Cas by the collar of his shirt and _threw_ Cas fifty feet backwards. Cas landed straight on his back with an audible groan. Dean could feel Cas’s pain: it was like his back was on fire.

                Dean moaned and clenched his eyes shut.

                “I thought about just making you explode,” Lucifer said. “Like I did with Cassie over there, but I decided, that’s too merciful a death for you pathetic apes. It’s quick! Virtually painless! I want you guys to suffer!”

                Lucifer stomped on Dean’s hand. Dean couldn’t bite back the scream of pain as Lucifer crushed the bones in his hand. It felt like he was pulverizing them. Sam pulled the trigger on the gun again.

                Lucifer pulled his foot off Dean’s hand and Dean rushed to pull it close to him, cradling it against his chest. Oh god, it felt like his hand was on fire. Dean looked up, vision blurring with pained tears. He could see the exit wound in Lucifer’s head, blood and brain matter stained on his shirt collar.

                Beelzebub was pulling Cas by his hair back towards epicenter of action. Cas struggled, kicked and squirmed the entire way, slicing Beelzebub arms with his angel blade, but the demon remained unfazed the entire time.

                “You shouldn’t have done that, Sam.” Lucifer raised his hand and Sam was flung into a nearby tree.

                “Sam!” Dean screamed. Sam was motionless, slumped against the ground. “Sammy!”

                Lucifer turned to look at Dean. His eyes were red. “Before I kill you,” Lucifer whispered, forked tongue pressing out against his lips. “I want you to see something.”

                Dean’s breathing was wracked. They were so fucked, they were gonna lose, they were gonna die, Lucifer was going to kill them and then the entire world was boned.

                Lucifer looked at Beelzebub. Dean’s eyes met Cas’s. Cas’s face was bruised, there was blood seeping around his hips on his coat, but Cas’s eyes were resilient as always, stone cold and in warrior-mode.

                “Have your way with the little bastard,” Lucifer told Beelzebub.

                “No!” Dean screamed. He tried to get up, get on his feet, grab the Lance and fight, but he _couldn’t_. His muscles wouldn’t listen to his brain. His hand was still on fire, he couldn’t even move his fingers. The Lance was right there, less than inches away, and he couldn’t reach it. “No, leave him alone!”

                Cas fought like a wildcat, all loose limbed and speed, but Beelzebub was bigger, and older, and Cas was _hurt_ , badly.  It took no effort for Beelzebub to simply flip Cas on his stomach and put all his weight on top of him, forcing Cas’s face into the ground.

                “No!” Dean was half-crawling, dragging himself across the ground with his good hand. God no, no, no this wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening.

                Lucifer pushed his foot on Dean’s back, forcing him back to the ground. “Watch, Dean,” Lucifer said.

                “Get your fucking hands off him,” Dean growled, summoning every molecule of rage he had in his body. “I’ll cut them off and make you eat them!”

                Lucifer tsked and shook his head, pressing his foot down on Dean’s back harder. “What’s with you Winchesters and all your violent threats? Your violent, empty, useless threats? Didn’t your daddy teach you that violence is never the answer?”

                “Cas,” Dean whined, breath caught in his throat. “Cas, look at me.”

                Cas twisted his head enough so his eyes met Dean’s. Now they were panic blown, terrified in a way Dean hadn’t ever seen Cas before. Cas was still fighting, though, wiggling, jabbing his elbows back, trying to catch against something.

                “Dean,” he said, breathless. “Dean.”

                “Look at me,” Dean said. His own pain was pushed to the backburner of his mind. It wasn’t important right now. What was important was keeping Cas calm, getting Cas through this, and Dean was going to take the Lance and shove it up Beelzebub’s asshole until it stuck out his throat—

                “I’m right here,” Dean said, forcing his voice to sound calmer than he was. “I’m right here, just keep looking at me.”

                “Aw,” Lucifer said, digging his heel into Dean’s back. Dean clenched his teeth and suppressed his scream of pain. “Isn’t that precious? Beelzebub, stop messing around! Get it done with already!”

                “Sorry, Master,” Beelzebub said. “I just want this to be perfect.” He twirled his fingers in Cas’s hair. Cas was still as a statue, and Dean kept his eyes locked with Cas’s. He wouldn’t abandon Cas, they’d suffer this together.

                Dean focused his eyes just on Castiel, stared down into the deep depths of that electric blue like he was drowning in it. Everything else surrounding him vanished. It was just him and Cas and no one else. He could hear what sounded like other people talking, arguing, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting Cas through this, keep looking at Cas, not abandoning Cas.

                “En aziazor,” someone was saying. “I am going to take you back, erase that human stain that mars your grace. We will be bound once more, and this time we will be together. Nothing will separate us. I won’t let anything take you away from me.”

                Dean refused to close his eyes, refused to shut out the horrors. Cas needed him.

                “It’ll be okay, Cas, it’s okay,” Dean muttered, without even thinking. Words kept escaping him, tumbling out his mouth without conscience or consequence.

                Cas kept staring back, and it was so awful to see Cas afraid. Cas was never afraid, not of anything. Cas could spit the devil in the eye and not blink with fear, but right now, he was trembling. Dean tried to fool himself into thinking it was from the cold, but it was futile. Angels didn’t get cold.

                “Dean,” Cas’s voice was barely audible.

                “Quit it with the foreplay,” Lucifer snapped. Dean winched at the intensity. His spine ached. “You’ll have all eternity to play with him.”

                Lucifer twisted his foot on Dean’s vertebra. Dean couldn’t hold back a cry of pain at that. Lucifer bent forward, his breath hot against Dean’s ear. “Watch every movement, every touch,” Lucifer crooned. “And remember how it’s not you.”

                Beelzebub was twisting Cas’s pants down. Cas turned a bright, scarlet hue.

                Dean ignored Lucifer, ignored his own agony. That wasn’t important right now.

                He knew Cas was trying very hard to hold back his emotions. When Dean searched for them, he was met with static. Cas was blocking him off, and though it was selfish, Dean was partly grateful. He was weak, pathetic, and he didn’t think he could handle feeling what Cas was feeling on top of having to bear witness to the violation.

                Everything else happened in slow motion. Sam stirred quietly against the tree, reaching for his gun. Lucifer and Beelzebub were so preoccupied with Cas, they didn’t notice. Sam took in the scene before him, face draining of all color, but he slowly got to his feet. His eyes met Dean’s. He pressed a finger against his lips and readied his weapon.

                He shot the gun.

                Lucifer and Beelzebub, distracted by the noise, turned their heads.

                Cas gripped his angel blade and spun around, turning onto his back and he jammed the weapon, with all the power and might and stubbornness of an angel behind him, into Beelzebub’s jaw. It entered under his chin and jutted out Beelzebub’s temple.

                Beelzebub made a small noise of surprise. It was soft, subtle, like a cat’s. Blood trickled slowly out his mouth. Cas ripped the blade out in one solid motion and then in an instant jammed it straight into Beelzebub’s heart.

                Beelzebub’s eyes flashed yellow. Dean heard the signature electric spark. Cas wrenched his blade out and shoved Beelzebub off of him, rising to his feet. Lightning flashed. It came out of nowhere, straight from above, dropping from the sky in a zig-zagging manner, and it struck the giant oak tree behind them.

                The explosion rattled Dean’s teeth. It sounded like a cannon had just gone off.  Mud, sod, and tree bark were projected in all directions, going at speeds of several hundred miles an hour. Dean heard the distinct roar of fire.

                When he peeled his eyes open, he saw the oak tree was on fire.. Castiel was on his feet, slighting hunched forward, blood dripping from his angel blade. The fire cast Castiel’s shadows onto the ground and Dean saw the giant wings, arcing over Castiel’s head.

                Dean’s heart seized with pride.

                _Hell yes!_ Dean thought, near giddy.

                Cas took his foot and stomped on Beelzebub’s body. “ _En aziazor_ ,” Castiel growled, repeatedly stomping on the corpse. “I’ll show you _en aziazor_!” Dean heard the incredibly distinct sound of bones crunching. Blood and muscle tissue seeped out of the corpse, running over onto the ground. Mixed in was ash. The organs were black. The smell was almost enough to make Dean gag.

                Lucifer took his foot off Dean’s back. Dean inhaled sharply, the cold, night air aching his lungs.

                “You little—“

                Dean lunged and grabbed the Lance; in another instance, he was on his feet, the Lance sticking forward.

                Sam came forward too, holding his gun straight forward. He had debris in his hair, and a giant scrape on his cheek, but he was standing.

                Behind them, the fire roared. Dean could feel the heat of it from here, sweat prickling at his brow.

                Lucifer was surrounded by the three of them. Beelzebub’s massacred corpse lay just off to the side, skull crashed like rotted fruit.

                Lucifer laughed. His red eyes glowed, prominent against the night backdrop, almost as red as the fire. His laugh was high-pitched, like a hyena. Dean swallowed, grip tightening on the Lance.

                Lucifer laughed and clapped his hands together, twisting his wrists. “Whew,” he said. He cracked his neck. “Gotta hand it to you, boys, you sure know to keep a guy on his toes.” Lucifer’s eyes were drawn towards Beelzebub. Amusement flickered in Lucifer’s eyes. He looked at Cas, eyes predatory, teeth visible as he bit his lower lip.

                “Still so strange, Castiel,” Lucifer said. “And so angry. What made you so angry?”

                Castiel panted, shoulders sagging. His shadow was gone; Dean could no longer see the silhouette of his wings, but he imagined they were probably still outstretched, wielded like weapons. Castiel’s jaw was clenched, Dean wondered if his teeth could shatter. He had blood splatter marring his shirt collar and some parts of his face and neck. Not his blood, Dean noted with relief, still thinking of Beelzebub.

                Asshole got off way too easy, in Dean’s opinion. Dean wished he could have gotten hold of the asshole, just for a few minutes. Shown him Dean’s hellish repertoire.

                 Dean raced towards Lucifer.

                Lucifer vanished instantly, and Dean just barely avoided colliding into Sam.

                “What?” Dean yelled, head turning every which way. “How does he keep doing that, where did he go?”

                “Oh, boys!”

                Lucifer was behind Cas. He had a large sword pressed against Cas’s neck. It looked very similar to Cas’s angel blade, except it was at least twice as big, and decorated in a gold alloy instead of silver. Cas was stock still, jaw set. His eyes were directed towards Lucifer.

                “Let go of him,” Sam said, raising the gun. It was practically useless. It served only as a distraction method than anything that could hurt Lucifer, but Sam still managed to muster authority and fear into the words. Dean was impressed.

                Lucifer was not. He chuckled again. “Really, Sam? I expected better from you, honestly. College didn’t do you much good, I guess. You,” Lucifer spat, eyes turning towards Dean. “Put that down, or I’ll separate Cassie’s head from his shoulders.”

                Cas’s consciousness brushed against Dean’s. Dean didn’t need Cas to talk to make out the words _Don’t you dare._

                Dean licked his lips. Logically, he knew he couldn’t sacrifice the world for Cas. But, in his heart—just the thought of moving forward and instigating any sort of harm on the angel was enough to make him vomit. Dean had to choke down his nausea, though. Cas was his best friend, his lover—his _mate_ , they were bonded more closely than nearly all the married couples on Heaven and Earth, and he _just_ got to stomp his abuser’s head in like a cantaloupe, that was a _win_ , Cas deserved to relish in his win.

                Dean couldn’t let Lucifer kill him.

                Slowly, slowly, Dean knelt down and put the Lance on the ground. Through the bond, he felt Cas’s irritation and rage. All Dean could do was send back his own thoughts. Remorse and sadness.

                _I’m sorry._

                Cas’s eyes remained stony as always, but Dean could feel just the barest brush of Cas’s anger and fear. Cas was still afraid.

                “You too, Sam,” Lucifer said. Dean glanced at Sam out of the corner of his eye. They had a silent conversation. Sam put his gun on the ground and kicked it away from him.

                “On your knees,” Lucifer said. “Both of you.”

                Together, Sam and Dean got to their knees, and they put their hands behind their heads. They’d been in this sort of position enough times before. They knew the procedure.

                “Good,” Lucifer said. He walked backwards, forcing Cas with him.

                Dean snarled. His fingers twitched. He longed to reach for the Lance and charge at Lucifer at a thousand miles per hour, stabbing him right in the gut with the thing, watch him wither and slowly die.

                He couldn’t. Not as long as he had Cas like that.

                “You know,” Lucifer said, sighing. “I’ve never liked the whole ‘villain monologue thing.’ I’ve got you where I want you, yeah. I could gloat about it. But since I’m such a nice guy, I’ll make a deal with you. Which of you wants to die first?”

                “Me,” Cas, Dean, and Sam said at the same time. Dean swallowed. Damn it. If Lucifer was too busy killing him, he’d be distracted enough that Sam and Cas could gank him.

                Lucifer exhaled. “Okay, so this might be a bit more difficult than I anticipated. How about, who wants to die last?”

                “How about you die, and the rest of us have a beer and piss on your grave?”

                Dean’s head snapped to the far right. Gabriel walked forward, loud winds screaming behind him. Another bolt of lightning flashed, crossing the sky. Gabriel’s shadow was splayed across the ground and Dean’s heart jumped into his throat. He thought Cas’s wings were giant and impressive, but Gabriel’s were three times as big, at least, and the feather tips reached out farther than Dean could see. The embers of the tree crackled. Branches snapped off and fell to the ground. Dean and Sam flinched at the movement.

                That tree wasn’t going to hold forever. It was only a matter of minutes before the fire spread to the entire field.

                Nobody could keep the surprise off their face. Dean spotted Cas’s gaze, saw Cas’s resolve waver just the tiniest bit at seeing Gabriel.

                Dean hated Gabriel for playing this ping-pong game of absence and appearance with Cas, but at the same time, he had never been so glad to see the asshole in his life.

                “Gabriel,” Lucifer said. He pressed his blade closer to Cas’s neck.

                “Lucifer,” Gabriel said, matching Lucifer’s icy tone. “Let him go.”

                “I don’t think so. I’ve gotten fond of the little tree topper, Daddy’s favorite rebel.” His forked tongue poked out past his lips and was way too close to Cas’s skin for Dean’s comfort.

                “Haven’t I killed you once already?” Lucifer asked.

                Gabriel snorted. “You didn’t stick around long enough to make sure.”

                Lucifer bowed his head. “I did learn from the best. You don’t stick around anywhere.”

                Gabriel’s jaw tightened. He shook his sleeve. His blade fell into his hands. This one was ornate with emerald, the green hues reflecting diamond type patterns in the light of the fire.

                Gabriel’s eyes turned towards the fire. He snapped his fingers, and the fire went out. Dean released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He turned over his shoulder and bore witness to the remains of the tree. It was completely charred, the bark cracked. Branches had fallen off, and the leaves were all gone.

                Dean swallowed. Mud caked his jeans all the way through, soaking him to the bone.

                “Let. Him. Go,” Gabriel said.

                “Or?”

                “Or I’ll make it really hurt when I kill you.”

                Lucifer snorted. “You’re in no position to bargain, Gabe. I’ve got all the power.”

                Gabriel stepped forward, head shaking. “No. No, that’s where you’re wrong. Yeah, you got those pretty wings, and sure, you’re pretty okay with a blade. But that’s not real power.”

                Lucifer rolled his eyes and gagged. “Save me the ‘love conquers all’ speech, Gabe. I expected better from you.”

                Castiel’s breathing was getting faster, and shallower. Dean could see from here he was damn near hyperventilating, and if he were human, he probably would have passed out by now. Sores broke out on Lucifer’s hands. The blood smeared across Castiel’s neck.

                “You know as well as I do,” Lucifer continued. “Love makes you weak.”

                “I feel sorry for you,” Gabriel said. “Really, I do. God loved you best, you know He did. He loved you more than anything, and you threw it away.”

                Lucifer growled. It came from low in his throat, deep and long, animalistic. “Shut up, baby brother, or I’ll take it out on him.” Lucifer put more pressure on his sword, pressing it harder against Castiel’s throat. Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out.

                “God gave you a choice, you had a responsibility,” Gabriel continued. “And you threw it away.”

                “You must be misremembering, Gabe. God threw me away. Locked in solitary confinement for _ten thousand years!_ ”

                Thunder boomed so loud, Dean and Sam had to cover their ears. The earth shook violently beneath them, knocking Dean off his knees and flat onto his back.

                “Dad gave me the boot and threw away the key all because I had the courage—I had what none of the rest of you sniveling, pathetic, blind cowards had and I stood up to him. Look at them!” Lucifer motioned to Dean and Sam. Dean’s back screamed in agony, oh, god was his back broken? It was like fire was running inside his vertebra, and he was dry heaving in agony, unable to vomit because of an empty stomach. All he could force up was yellow bile. Sam was in a similar position, breathing through his mouth, clutching at a rib.

                “Castiel, Gabriel, look at them! Look how weak. Stupid. Insipid. Small. Pathetic! They are not worth it, brothers. They are not worth your loyalty. Your protection. You know it, Gabriel.”

                “No,” Gabriel said, shaking his head. “Maybe I was, once. But I was wrong. You’re wrong. They are.” Gabriel chewed on his lip, eyes looking all around. They stopped on Dean. Dean met Gabriel’s gaze, held it with defiance and pride and courage, despite the agony he was suffering. Gabriel’s eyes always displayed his mood, whether it be carefree, mischievous or pissed off.

                Now, they were somber. Sad, but studious. Like Cas’s, Dean thought, biting hard on his tongue to hold back a scream. He made an attempt to wiggle his toes and almost cried in relief when he realized he still could.

                “They’re really flawed. And they’ve done horrible, despicable things. Third Reich, anyone?” Gabriel swallowed. “But they are resilient and determined and they love with all their capacity. There’s a reason God wanted us to look after them, and love them. It’s not so they can be more like us. It’s so we can be more like them.”

                Lucifer sneered. Castiel gasped and swallowed against the blade by his neck. “So? You bum around with these bozos for a week and suddenly you’re reformed? You’ve risen from the ashes of your failures and are reborn, a new angel?”

                “Oh, hell no,” Gabriel said. “I’m still me. I just have a new perspective, that’s all. I’m done hiding. I’m done running away from my mistakes.”

                Gabriel looked at Castiel. Dean couldn’t see Gabe’s face from his angle, but he saw Gabriel swallow, saw Gabe’s shoulders tense up.

                “I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner, Cas,” Gabriel said.

                He flicked his wrist and Castiel was flung away from Lucifer, skidding on the mud for several yards, leaving a trench in his wake.

                “Cas!” Dean and Sam shouted. Castiel was far away, nearly buried in the mud. The rain had started up again, assaulting all of them like icy knives. Cas wasn’t moving. Pain forgotten, Dean army crawled over to Cas, Sam just on his tail.

                “Cas,” Dean gasped turning Castiel onto his back. “You okay?”

                Cas’s face was a battered mess, bloodied and bruised, but when he cracked his eyes open, Dean caught sight of that trademark blue, he shuddered in relief.

                Cas twisted his head to the side and spat out a thick wad of mud. “Never been better,” he growled. Dean huffed, and patted Cas’s back.

                “You really shouldn’t have done that.” Lucifer’s voice was subdued, and it was so much worse than when the asshole was screaming, shouting, and jovial. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood straight.

                He and Sam helped Cas into a sitting position and watched.

                Gabriel’s hand was still outstretched. From its spot by the tree, the Lance shivered, shook, and then it flew into Gabe’s grip. Gabriel held it upright, spearhead to the sky. His hair was plastered to his face, clothes soggy with wet weight. His hair was plastered to his skin.

                “I don’t want to kill you,” Gabriel had to scream to be heard over the rain. “Lucifer. I still love you. But you’re still a great big bag of dicks.”

                Heat lightning, the sort that traveled across the sky but never hit the ground, flared above Gabriel’s head. It revealed Gabriel and Lucifer’s shadows, wings wide and arched high.

                Lucifer’s forked tongue pressed out his lips.

                Dean gripped onto Cas, and Sam, holding on as tight as he could.

                Gabriel and Lucifer rushed at each other. Lucifer’s sword came down high, towards Gabriel’s head, but Gabriel blocked it with the Lance. Orange sparks flew at the impact, but the two archangels were swift, twisting and turning, slashing with their weapons. The rain fell harder. Dean and Sam began to shiver with the intensity, and their visibility of the battle was reduced, but Dean could still make out the blurs of the fighters.

                They fought like it was a dance. Lucifer’s focus was on brutality, while Gabe’s was on speed, and they kept slashing at one another, weapons just barely missing contact with skin as the victim twisted out of the way. Dean heard the distinct sound of metal against metal. It managed to break through even the thunder and rain.

                “What do you know of loyalty?” Lucifer screamed. “You! You ran away, Gabriel, left Heaven to join the Pagan circus! You never loved us!” Lucifer’s sword slashed at Gabriel’s face. It caught him on the cheek. Gabriel prevented further damage by jamming his elbow into Lucifer’s throat.

                “That is not true! I left _because_ I loved you! I loved you too much to watch you keep fighting!” Gabriel aimed the spearhead at Lucifer’s wing. Lucifer side-stepped, sending Gabriel careening forward. He regained his balance quickly, but Lucifer was behind him already, sword prepared to lash out again.

                “You and Michael, both!” Gabriel screamed, spinning on his heels. He shoved the Lance again, going for the chest, but Lucifer ducked, and the Lance just swept over the top of his head. “I couldn’t stand it! And I couldn’t stand that you wanted me to pick sides!  I just,” Gabriel lunged, “wanted,” he had Lucifer backed up against the charred remains of the tree; it cracked with the added pressure. Lucifer attempted to escape from the side, but Gabriel knocked him back into place, “us,” Gabriel raised the Lance high, lighting striking form the sky and hitting the end of the handle, sending electricity crackling at the metal spearhead. Dean saw fear in Lucifer’s eyes. “To be,” Gabriel slammed the spearhead into Lucifer’s chest. Dean heard the squish of metal entering flesh, impaling organs, and he shut his eyes. “A family again.” Gabriel sobbed.

                It took a few moments for Dean to find the courage to open his eyes again, but when he did, he found the rain had stopped. Lucifer was impaled against the tree, the Lance of Michael sticking out where his heart would be. Lucifer’s head was thrown back. He choked and gurgled, a black mess of goo bubbling out his mouth and seeping onto his neck. Gabriel was panting, shoulders sagging with adrenaline, and he sobbed.

                Dean barely had time to process what had happened before Cas was on his feet, running towards Gabriel.

                “Gabriel!” Castiel screamed, panicked.

                Dean looked at Sam, confused. Why was Cas panicked? He was so confused, worry mixed with elation, because they did it, they won, they beat Lucifer, Lucifer was _dead_ —

                And then Gabriel collapsed to the ground, moaning in pain.

                Castiel skidded down next to him, pulling Gabe’s head into his lap. “No, no, no,” Castiel muttered.

                “Dean,” Sam said, in his ‘something terrible is happening’ voice.

                Dean and Sam got closer.

                “Hold on, Gabriel,” Cas said, gripping his brother’s hand. “It’ll be okay. What—what do I do?”

                When Dean got closer, he saw it.

                Lucifer’s blade was sticking out of Gabriel’s gut, blood and blue wisps of grace escaping out past the wound. Gabriel gritted his teeth and squeezed Cas’s hand tight as he could.

                “I don’t think there’s any coming back from this one, Cassie,” Gabriel muttered, panting in pain. He screamed, his faux voice breaking for just an instant, slipping into his angelic one. It reverberated in Dean’s skull, and probably knocked a filling loose. “Sorry,” Gabe said, fighting to fit into his faux voice.

                “Shut up,” Cas said. He looked up at Sam and Dean, and the sight of his eyes was almost enough to kill Dean on the spot. Cas wasn’t holding back his emotions, either, and through the bond, Dean was assaulted with a tsunami of _worry, fear, worry, grief_. “Dean. Sam.” His voice cracked. Tears were welling in his eyes. “What do I do? Do I take it out?”

                “Cas,” Gabe said. “I’m sorry. It’s—it’s…”

                “No! No, we can fix this, you can’t—“ Cas’s voice broke and he swallowed, fresh tears dripping out his eyes, down his face.

                 The worry that churned through Cas’s blood, that passed over onto Dean, was crippling. Dean fell to his knees.

                Lucifer’s corpse hung from the tree, leaning forward. The heinous black goo dribbling out his mouth, drop by drop. Dean swallowed.

                “Cas, hey, kiddo. Listen,” Gabriel groaned. “I’m sorry. For everything. I-I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry—“

                “ _Shut up_ ,” Cas snapped, putting pressure on the wound. Gabriel arched and cried.

                “You did good on your own, though,” Gabe forced out. His teeth were chattering. “Dean, Sam.” Gabriel’s eyes rolled up to look at them. “Take care of him, okay? Promise me.”

                Dean swallowed, aware of the seriousness of what Gabriel was asking of him. It was the same intensity he felt if he ever had to ask anyone to look after Sam.

                He nodded. “Of course,” Dean said.

                Gabriel forced a pained smile. Blood coated his teeth. “You’re not half-bad, Deanarino. Cassie could’ve done worse.” Gabriel’s smile fell. He swallowed.

                Castiel threw himself over Gabriel, just as the blue light exploded from the archangel. Dean and Sam shut their eyes tight. A gust of wind hit them right in the face, with the power of a tornado behind it. Dean face was wind whipped, stinging, and his eyes began to tear up.

                When it died down and Dean had regained his composure, he saw Castiel, sobbing over Gabriel, the shadows now scorch marks on the mud and grass.

.

.

.

                Dean pulled the Lance out of Lucifer’s chest, wincing as he drew it out, blood and guts coating the handle. He actively tried to avoid getting any of the black goo on him, gritting his teeth in disgust. When the Lance was all the way out, Lucifer’s body fell forward onto the mud. Dean spat on the corpse, and wiped his hands on his jeans.

                Sam drug Beelzebub over by the ankles, leaving behind a trail of blood and bone fragments on the grass. Sam pulled Beelzebub on top of Lucifer, panting in exertion. “We don’t have any accelerant,” Sam said, as he fought to catch his breath.

                Dean shrugged, digging for his pocket lighter. “We’ll work with what we got.”  He flipped the lighter open.

                Dean caught sight of Cas out of the corner of his eye. He was still cradling Gabriel’s body. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. He threw the lighter down onto the bodies. The fire was slow to start, and slow to spread, but they didn’t have anywhere to go, and Dean sort of liked the idea of their bodies burning slowly, piece by piece, instead of going up in an instant.

                The smell was awful. Worse than usual, like the body was already rotted inside out. Which it probably was.

                “Go talk to him,” Sam said.

                Dean looked at Cas again. He hadn’t moved. Dean brushed up against the bond, but was met with what felt like a solid, brick wall. He gulped. It felt like an entire new battle to walk over to Cas and kneel down on the grass. Gabriel’s eyes were closed.

                “Hey, Cas,” Dean said, forcing a smile. Cas’s eyes were red-rimmed. His fist was clutched in Gabriel’s shirt. He was at a loss for what to say. Cas’s brother just died. Gabriel died, defending them, saving the world. Dean looked up at Sam, standing vigil by the pyre, watching to keep it in control. He had lived the reality of his brother dying; he knew what sort of hole it tore in someone’s heart and soul.

                Gabriel was a grade-A douche, and he fucked up a lot along the way, but he came through at the very end. For humanity. For Cas.

                Dean made a promise. He reached out and gently squeezed Cas’s shoulder.

                Cas met his gaze. His eyes were tired and bleary.

                “I want to bury him,” Cas said softly.

                Dean licked his lips. “Okay, Cas. We can do that.”

                Cas sighed. Not in relief, or despair, but acceptance, Dean thought.

                “Let’s take him to Bobby’s, huh?” Dean said. “We can bury him at Bobby’s.” Outside the Impala, Bobby’s house was the closest thing to home.

                Cas nodded. “That sounds nice.”

                Dean reached out and curled his fingers in Cas’s hair. “It’s over, Cas. We won.” Dean wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Dean figured there’d be elation, that he’d be riding on cloud nine.

                He really didn’t feel anything.

                Sam began to stomp on the fire, and beat it with his rain-soaked jacket. Dean tilted his head. The bodies were gone, and soon enough, the ashes would blow away with the wind, be scattered across the Earth.

                “Think you handle one more flight?” Dean asked, as Sam began to walk over.

                “I’m going to have to,” Cas said. Dean smiled. “Dean, your car—“

                “We can get the car later,” Dean said. Nearby, Sam snorted. Dean met his eye. Sam raised an eyebrow, seeming to say, _Man, are you whipped_. Dean shot back the meanest glare he could manage. It was true. The car wasn’t going anywhere. Bobby’s place was closer, and they needed to check on the old man anyway, make sure he hadn’t hit his End of the World stash already.

                Sam knelt down and gripped onto Cas’s shoulder tightly.

                “Take us home, Cas,” Dean said.


	9. Part IX

 

                                                                                                **PART IX**

 

                “Son of a bitch!” Bobby yelled, when they landed inside his home, crashing against the wall.

                “Hey, Bobby,” Dean managed, wincing, but still finding the strength to flash Bobby a smile. “Guess what? Satan’s dead!”

                Bobby stared at them, and Dean imagined what kind of mess they had to have been. Mud soaked, shivering, beaten, bloodied, and bruised, with a grieving angel and a dead body.

                “Great,” Bobby said, crossing his arms. “Any reason you idjits couldn’t have used the front door?”

                Dean’s grin widened.

.

.

.

                They buried Gabriel the next day, when the rain had dried up and Sam and Dean had most of their endurance back. Between the three of them, they dug the grave fairly easily. Dean wiped at the sweat on his brow, and cracked his back. They had Gabriel wrapped in a bed sheet, with different items tucked into the folds. Castiel put Gabriel’s angel blade, Sam a king size candy bar, and Dean a video cassette of _Casa Erotica_. Cas had scowled at Dean when he saw Dean putting it in, but Dean shrugged.

                “It’s what he would have wanted,” Dean defended. Cas sighed in exasperation and didn’t argue, so Dean counted that as a win.

                They lifted him up and gently placed him in the grave, and soon they were filling the grave back up with dirt, trying to pack it as tightly as they could. Cas was especially meticulously about this point, and Dean would’ve be annoyed if he hadn’t stopped putting himself in Cas’s shoes, remembering the toll this was taking on Cas. If their positions were reversed, if it was Sam they were burying---just thinking about it made Dean’s heart seize inside his chest—Dean would want the very best, too.

                “There we go,” Dean said, patting the last of the dirt down. He leaned on the shovel, shoulders sagging in their pain.

                Cas had taken an old piece of plywood and made the headstone. It had _Gabriel_ labeled with Enochian script beneath it. A good brother, Cas said it meant.

                Cas was still quiet. He’d barely spoken since they made it to Bobby’s, and had spent the past night in the living room with Gabriel’s body. Bobby had been pissed they brought a dead angel into his house, but he had taken one look at Cas and couldn’t find the heart to bitch about it. They had a modest dinner of PB&J with stale Lucky Charms, and after a lukewarm shower, sat in the living room to discuss what they were going to do next. Cas had sat in the corner, unresponsive. Dean was worried at first, and kept pressing against the bond, but he was always met with the brick wall that he couldn’t get past just yet. Eventually, Sam elbowed him in the ribs and told him to leave Cas alone, let him grieve. Dean had to reluctantly comply, because Cas wasn’t giving him anything to work with.

                “Got all them weather scientists freaking out about the storm,” Bobby said, sipping on a cup of coffee. “Came outta nowhere, vanished so suddenly. I haven’t ever seen rain like that before.”

                “At least your house is okay,” Sam said.

                “’Course it’s okay,” Bobby snapped. “I built the damn thing myself, to stand up to just about anything short of a nuke.”

                “What about the floods?” Dean asked.

                Bobby shrugged. “Far as I can tell, no one died. Lots of people lost their houses though.”

                Dean sighed and pinched his brow.

                “There was nothing you coulda done about that, boy,” Bobby said.

                “I know,” Dean said. Really, if no one died, it was better than any outcome Dean had been expecting. It still sucked to know people had lost everything.

                After a few moments, they decided to call it a night. Dean explained Gabriel, and made the decision to wait until the next day to bury him. Cas hadn’t acknowledged Dean verbally, just met his eye, and the look that permeated that regal blue was like a knife in Dean’s heart.

                At the top of the stairs, Bobby pulled Dean aside by the elbow.

                “So, what’s the deal with you and Cas now?”

                Dean blinked, nervousness clogging up his throat. “Well, you see. . . we’re, um. . .”

                “Dean and Cas are angel married,” Sam supplied from the bathroom, in between brushing his teeth.

                Heat rushed up to Dean’s face, making him red as a tomato, and he began to stammer, searching for _something_ to say.

                After a moment, Bobby grumbled and shrugged. “Sorry I missed the wedding,” he said.

                “No you’re not!” Sam called.

                Bobby’s non-reaction was the best thing Dean could have hoped for, and he went to bed that night, alone, but happy. He wished Cas would join him, but he wasn’t going to push Cas. Cas was grieving, and Dean wanted to respect that. If Cas wanted to be left alone to deal, Dean would grant that.

                They began to bury Gabriel as soon as the sun was out.

                Cas knelt on the fresh sod, and placed his hands flat on the ground. Blue light emerged from his fingertips and immersed into the ground. Within moments, dozens of brightly colored flowers bloomed, pansies and tulips and sunflowers, tall and wide.

                Cas pushed himself to his feet and stood next to Dean. Dean opened his arm, and Cas leaned in.

                “It’s nice, Cas,” Sam said, smiling.

                “Yeah,” Dean agreed. “You did good.”

                They stood there for a while, just staring at the grave, before they slowly trudged their way inside.

.

.

.

                A week later, they left Bobby’s.

                “Devil’s dead, but we still got people to save,” Dean said. “Don’t miss us too much, Bobby.”

                “I promise you boys, that’s not ever a problem.”

                Dean smiled. Bobby opened his arms. “Come here.” Dean and Sam hugged Bobby tightly. Bobby motioned a finger. “You too, Feathers.”

                Cas’s face flushed and he shifted nervously.

                “I mean it, boy.”

                “I’d do what he says, Cas,” Dean said.

                “Yeah,” Sam added. “Bobby’s liable to pester you till you give in.”

                Castiel joined in, stiff as wood, but Dean took it, hugging him tight.

                They let go after a minute.

                “You need anything Bobby, give us a call.”

                “Trust me, boys, after playing house host to you for a week, that won’t be happening anytime soon.”

                Sam sighed. “Love you too, Bobby. Cas?”

                “You’ll take care of the grave, right?” Castiel asked. “Water the flowers?”

                “’Course I will, kid,” Bobby said, and Dean didn’t doubt his sincerity. Cas relaxed and smiled marginally.

                “Thank you.”

                “Let’s go,” Dean said, and they exited Bobby’s house. They had retrieved the Impala, and all of Sam and Dean’s artifacts, soon after burying Gabriel, and Dean had spent the last several days fine-tuning it, giving it a good spit and shine. Now, it was in tip top shape and ready to go.

                As they made their way down the steps, Dean thought of how drastically his life had changed in just a few weeks. He watched Cas wait by the backseat door. Weeks ago, he never would have imagined he’d be mated to an angel, and _like_ it. He didn’t have to worry about what Cas might be thinking or feeling anymore. He just had to brush against the bond and he could _know_. So many Castiel mysteries had been falling apart already, and the more Dean discovered, the more he fell in love with the dork. Like how in the morning, Cas’s mind was a happy hum, like birds chirping. How when he tried coffee, his mind exploded in amazement and curiosity. Dean could tell he was thinking of Gabriel when the bond became subdued and morose.

                So many things about Cas were coming to light and Dean loved each one as they unfolded. Cas like coats and blankets, but hated belts, and enjoyed the taste of coffee and soup, but not chocolate or tomatoes.

                Dean regretted all those times he thought of Cas as uncaring, or stone like. Cas felt as intensely as a human. And Dean loved this idiot. He proved it with gentle, morning kisses, by showing Cas his favorite movies and music, experimenting in the culinary arts for Cas to try, taking late evening drives and staring at the stars; and though Cas didn’t need to sleep, at night, he’d crawl into bed beside Dean, and just lay there, a warm, soothing presence.

                Dean never imagined he’d get a happy ending like this, with someone beside Sam to share it with. After Cassie, he had accepted that was a path in life that didn’t belong to him. He was content with hunting.

                Now he had the best of both worlds.

                “Hey, Cas,” Dean said, digging through his coat pockets. He threw Cas the car keys. Cas caught it one handed. “Why don’t you drive?”

 

 

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Don't forget to leave a comment down below if you enjoyed or bookmarked!  
> If you enjoyed maybe check out my [s13 hiatus fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10997487)? It's a nice long, fix-it that we all need for over the summer. 
> 
> Also feel free to say hi on my [tumblr](http://www.darkheartinthesky.tumblr.com/)! I promise I don't bite!


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